Lifetimes
by Ombree
Summary: It doesn't matter the time or the place. She will always be a part of his world, and he will always be a part of hers. Collection of short works set in alternate universes (AU).
1. Disaronno and Milk

I haven't written in years and decided to do a series of small works to have some fun, and even challenge myself after feeling inspired by other works I've read recently. All the works in this will be in an Alternate Universes, and I'll update this collection as I see fit. I don't foresee any of them getting a continuation either, but who knows what will show up here.

None of these will be read over so expect some mistakes as I'll probably only do a once over on them.

* * *

Title: Disaronno and Milk  
Prompt: A dark restaurant AU set in a post-apocalyptic world.

* * *

Pale fingers held a glass steady as he rubbed it dry. Those that came to this establishment did so with the intention to do wrong. The dirt and grim that came after the war was forever soaked within the populations skin. The establishment is lacking in care within the dark times of the world. The war that had brought them to this point but a whisper in the wind.

Criminals, and bandits were the normal patrons that frequented. They were cold, and bitter with their own stories to tell of the world beyond these doors. He did not judge—they didn't pay him to judge. The owner gave no care for the dealings that would be held within his establishment and so why should he?

He hears his name called, and the order to take food to the table hidden in the corner. The smallest of sighs falls from his lips as he sets the glass down upon the counter. His reactions are habitual—the rubbing of his hands within the washed out red apron, and the pulling of his washed out navy blue sleeves. No one bats an eye his way as he makes his way through the tables. It's standing in front of the table that has ordered the disgusting slop that comes from their kitchen that ends his task.

There is silence as he sets it before the patron. They are small within their dirty cream cloak. He assumes it to be a child or woman with such a small frame—their hood hides their face.

"Is there anything else we can get you?" his voice is smooth and even in the practiced lines.

"No. Thank you." the voice is soft, and feminine—delicate and cautious.

Brows pinch at hearing the woman before him. It gives way to hesitance and a thickened silence that makes him linger where he stands. The woman looks up to his figure looming at her table. The pale greenery of the eyes that capture his catches him off guard. They were not devoid of color like the world around him, and they glowed in their stare. Her brows have pinched—they're another color the world had long since forgotten, a pale pink—at his presence with what he gauges to be confusion.

He notes the smallest of shifts within her sitting figure, "Yes?"

She is looking at him now expectantly and he only gives way to a shake of his head. Removing himself from her table he pays her no more mind. He finds his pace back within his work, and it's only after he guesses she is long since gone that he goes to retrieve her plate. The woman was out of place within this restaurant of criminals and bandits. He does not expect to see her again.

It's only days later though that as he finishes serving another table that he sees that same dirt covered cream cloak of hers at the door way. He finds his eyes drawn to her as she makes her way to the table she had frequented before. The subtle curiosity that comes with her presence is there—it's not him who takes her order, but another among the staff. Ebony find themselves checking on her throughout the time she eats. She's a slow eater, and makes an almost bitter expression with each spoon she brings to her lips.

He notes that his coworker has ignored her long since depleted drink, and it's with the excuse of giving her a refill that he finds his way to her table. She tilts her head up to look upon him with those pale green of hers. His fingers pick the emptied glass from her table with ease as his other sets the newly filled glass upon the table. The bend in his frame lets his eyes run over her face, and note pale pink strands to go with those pale pink eyebrows of hers. They do not exchange words, and he does not hesitate this time making off with that in which he has replaced.

He feels her eyes upon him as he works, and he notes her continued slow pace as she drinks from the glass he has brought her. They still do not speak, and only occasionally share gazes before she removes herself from the table and leaves the restaurant. He finds himself leaning against the counter with arms crossed as he looks at her empty seat.

 _He wonders if she'll be back_.

He gives up that thought seven days later. She has not come for the disgusting food as she had, and he thinks that she finally has realized that she should not frequent within the establishment. The pale green of her eyes are what he thinks of when he serves that table to someone other than her. The people that had come and gone had never made a lasting impression—none of them had held features that contrasted with the dull colors of their desolate world.

It's another week, and he has barely thought of her, and as if she knows this she is stepping within the door. Her steps lead her to the table she frequents, and it's with that, that she awaits her server. He's setting a plate in front of his customer when his coworker whispers that she has requested him. At first it makes his brows pinch in confusion, but then they relax not caring for the why.

He stands beside her table with his hand upon his waist, and it's partner holding his tray in a light grasp, "What can I get for you?"

She gives a light hum before words take form, "I'd like something mixed. No food today." he gives an eyebrow at her request.

There is only a second of hesitation before he gets to work at mixing her drink. The odd woman had made no specific request, and it's with only some thought that he pulls out the bottle of Disaronno. He is no master mixer, but he can do little things, and it's with that he makes her a cocktail of Disaronno and milk served in a rocks glass. The pale color he thinks compliments her—he thinks she isn't as dirty as the rest of them.

He sets the glass down in front of her, and stands beside her table waiting. She settles her head to rest upon her palm before it's partner takes the glass in hand. She is studying it before bringing it to her lips letting the pale liquid slip within her mouth. Her tongue slips from it's home to trail across her bottom lip, "It's good."

He cannot stop his eyebrow from arching as she takes another small sip, "I'm Sakura. Sakura Haruno." he does not remember asking for her name. He assumes she wants him to supply his own name. He does not before walking away.

The subtlest of smirks is on his lips as he leaves her sitting there. Her name he thinks matches her well, and there is the oddest humor behind that thought. She is an odd, and strange woman. She drinks what he has given her, but does not ask for another.

 _She does not return for a month_.

She has requested him again, and it's with the slightest tilt upon his normally firm pressed lips that she calls him by his name, "Sasuke-kun, can I have what you gave me last time?" he assumes his coworker has told her.

He does as asked without second thought, but takes note of her affectionate suffix upon his name. There is an odd feeling at her intended affection, and his ego whispers she continues to come within the disgusting establishment for him. His fingers linger upon the table after he has set it down before her. She adjusts her hood to give her better view of him, and with the adjustment more of her pale pink is exposed. There's no excuse for why he lingers in his bent form over her table. There's no excuse for the expectant look he gives her as he stares within the pale greenery that gives up her curiosity so easily.

Those fingers of hers have wrapped them around the glass and bring it to her lips letting the pale liquid within them. She does not break the eye contact they have. The familiar reflex of her tongue slipping out to run across her bottom lip he assumes is habitual.

"It's delicious." she speaks in the softest of whispers with the smallest curve of her mouth.

He does not give way to a reply as he eases away from her table still keeping her eyes focused upon him. His fingers are the last to leave the wood of the table that had seen better days. The firm pressed line of his lips shifts for the briefest of seconds to give hint of a smirk at it's corners. There is the softest tiny upon her cheeks and it's with that he gives a nod and turns from her.

She does not ask for another, and he does not see her leave. It's fitting for them—whatever them was.

The hour is late as they close. His apron has been discarded within the back along with the others as he pulls down the sleeves of his dark shirt. They are saying their goodnights as he heads out the door into the cool night of dull colors and desolate outside. The ground is dirt, and debris and it's just the same as it is any other night except tonight was not any other night. She's standing with her back pressed against the restaurants wall next to the door he's exited.

"I'll be back in a week Sasuke-kun." her hood had been long since put back in it's rightful place upon her head only allowing him to see the small nose, and mouth that were her features.

"Ah." his voice is it's smooth practiced tone, and a nod follows with his words.

She has pushed off the wall at his response, and walked from him. There is a flash of amusement at her retreating form, and with it there is also the deep inhale of the cool air.

 _She keeps her word and is back in exactly a week_.

The minute he spots the color of her cloak he is at her side at the door walking her to her table. She's mixed it up this time asking for the slop in the back along with the request of a shot. She wants it strong, and is seeking something cinnamon. He assumes it's to chase the cold from her.

Her eating pace is slow just as she always has done, but she shoots the dark liquid he has provided her back with force. Her tongue does as it always has and runs across her bottom lip. He does not hesitate in bringing the bottle to her to pour her another. It's as his fingers cup the corner of the table and he bends over that he takes the opportunity to see the pale greenery that glowed.

"I think you've bewitched me." she speaks with humor coating every word, "I continue to come here for you." she has given way to the smallest of giggles at her statement.

"Hn." he hums out as she swings the drink back.

She's amused by his reply it seems as she gives way to more giggles. His fingers tilt the bottle forward giving her another shot she has not asked her as if reflexive.

"What could coming here for me possibly give you?" his normal practiced tone is gone and replaced with curiosity.

She gives the shake of her head with her amusement still intact, "In this ugly yet beautiful world I like the company you give." she's throwing her head back to take the newly given shot.

The glass clinks against the wood, and those fingers of hers have wrapped around the spoon dipped within the disgusting mush they called food. The bottle has been set just above her plate beside her empty shot glass. He has taken to leaning against her table with his arms crossed against his chest. Work is slow this evening, and even with the prying stares of his coworkers he does not leave her side.

They don't exchange words as they always do. He watches her careful eating and the slight bitterness that crosses her face as she continues to eat, "If you do not like it why order it?" his voice is smooth.

"No food in our broken world tastes good." she responds before inserting the spoon into her mouth.

The response makes him give way to another hum. She not wrong, and he finds her honesty soothing. He pushes himself from her table leaving her side finally to resume his word. He takes a few more customers and occasionally catches her pouring her shots herself. The restaurant is nearing close, and he finds himself coming back to her finally. She hasn't left in the silence she always does. She is rising as he nears her and her fingers are coming up to her hood. It's as he stands before her that he sees her slip it farther than she ever had allowed previous. The pale pink that it is, is dusted with dirt and short that curls in towards her face. That mouth of hers has the warmest of smiles and her eyes add to the tenderness behind it.

"I'll be back in a few weeks. . . give or take." she whispers it as if it is a secret for his ears only.

He gives a nod before watching her pull her cloak upon her head once more. It feels completely natural walking her to the door and seeing her off. She tells him goodnight and he gives way to his own.

The weeks she claimed she'd be away are true. Her impression has never once left him this time. There is the occasional interest in him of where she goes when she is away. The pale pink of her hair, and the pale green of her eyes has only confirmed for him that she truly isn't as dirty as the rest of them. She is the smallest of colors in a world destroyed, and broken.

It's when he starts to expect her to come through the door that he shifts his eyes upon the door of every visitor. That dirty cloak of hers does not make it's appearance even still.

 _Another week goes by and he feels himself become restless at her disappearance_.

She had told him give or take, and it's with that thought that his eyes linger upon the table she usually sat. It's empty tonight and he feels subtle disappointment.

His boss yells for him to get back to work, and he does so without any question. It's with his discarded apron and him pulling the seen-better-days cloak he's been sporting days after her last visit that he heads for the door. The owner stops him though before he heads out.

"That girl you keep looking for—Sakura Haruno" the older mans voice is rough, "She won't be coming back."

Ebony widen at the statement with confusion, and pinched brows. His fingers never leave the tarnished metal of the door knob. He's not sure at what point he had been caught looking for her, or when his boss had noticed. He's also not sure when his boss had noticed her presence within the establishment, and when he had learned her name.

"She died." the owners words halt him, and he is not longer showing confusion but startle at the statement. The older man has crossed his arms across his chest as he speaks again, "Word through the grapevine is she was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

His knuckles flex upon the door knob unsure of how to take the news. He feels the oddest of constrictions within his chest as his eyes fall from the man to the makeshift floor of rough wood.

"It seemed best to tell you since you seemed to be expecting her." his voice is deadpanned in its statement, and yet it only causes ebony to shift to look at the table in the hidden corner which she frequented. He's not sure if he ever responded to the man, and he's not sure when he had actually walked out of the restaurant. He does not know why he lingers within the front almost with hope that she would be waiting for him outside as she had. He does not know why he feels the attachment that he has for this woman so odd, and so unknown.

Sakura Haruno—this woman of pale pink, and pale greenery in a world diluted of color.

The whispers of her claims of liking his company within this ugly yet beautiful world make him feel colder then the air that comes with the winter. He had not know her from any other. She had not know him from any other. The walk home has him numb.

It's within his home as he slips off his shoes and settles into the dark of his broken down home that he pulls the bottle of Disaronno from the squeaking cupboard within the kitchen. He's slow in his making of the drink in which she had called delicious.

Fingers curl upon the dirty counter top covered in dust as he looks down at the simple drink. He was still no master of mixers. It's not a revolutionary concoction, and yet she seemed so pleased with it. He had know so very little of her and remembers thinking it had suited her well. She had claimed he had bewitched her, but it seemed that she was wrong. Some how this woman so unknown, and so odd had been the one bewitching him.

Fingers trail across the counter to take hold of the cup. Before bring it closer to his lips letting the liquid slide within his mouth. He thinks of her habitual reflex to slide her tongue along the bottom of her lip. He feels it slide down his throat, and with it comes the constriction of his chest. She had given way to her name, and he had not replied. He gives a smirk with a tint of with the cup pressed against his lip before taking another sip.

"Sasuke. Sasuke Uchiha." he replies little to late—she already knew it after all.

His eyes hold their gaze upon his drink of Disaronno and milk.

It wasn't as dirty as other drinks— _just like she wasn't as dirty as the rest of them_.


	2. Other Fish, and Mister Right

Title: Other Fish, and Mister Rights  
Prompt: Yes, I know this is your sweatshirt and that we broke up five months ago but it's really comfy okay. I totally don't wear it because like it still smells like you or is the only thing that even remotely feels like home since I moved out. Pfft. Absolutely not.

* * *

Break ups.

Everyone she's ever met had been through them from her close friends to acquaintances. Her best friend had been through multiple and had always seemed to bounce back stronger than ever citing that the boy who had let her go just was not the right one. There's the slightest roll of her eyes at that mentality.

It's standing in this one bedroom apartment she's finally unpacked herself into that really shatters the revelation that there was no going back. The ceiling of white, and rough texture overhead was nothing like the smooth one she knew well. The kitchen was smaller than the one she had spent the last few years cooking, and cleaning on her days off. The bedroom did not hold the same warmth she had grown accustomed too. The place didn't hold the fragrance that was so undeniably them—her floral mixing with his earthly almost cinnamon scent.

She can only huff at her train of thought. It was a new chapter and a new start. Moving forward is what she needed to do. It's falling back within the chair and flipping through the channel guide that distracts her in the eerie quiet of her new home. She was long past the days of chocolate ice cream tubs, and sappy love stories to lighten her mood. The silence of the room eats away at her though. The apartment is almost suffocating in its newness.

Standing her ground had always been a strength of hers. She would not let this drive her away. She was adaptable she'd learn to live peacefully within her new home.

 _Home_ —the word tasted almost bitter in her mouth.

It's days in she thinks she's adjusting to her new apartment. The hospital keeps her busy, and preoccupied. The job is a blessing in disguise as it had been the last five months. It kept her from thoughts lingering of ebony eyes, and pale skin. It kept her from seeing soft smirks, and an upraised eyebrow.

Interning at the hospital gave her feeling and life when her own was falling apart around her. Doctor Tsunade was guiding her down this road and she couldn't be more thankful to the woman. She had been kind, and knowledgeable and kept her from falling off track. The blonde too had cited there was other fish in the sea.

She felt the curve of her lips turn into the cheapest of smiles. What no one seemed to realize is she didn't want other fish—she didn't want other men. She had wanted him, and only him.

 _He sadly didn't want her though_.

The thought is as bitter as her definition of home, but it's as she's following into the next appointment behind her mentor that she clears her mind to focus on the tasks at hand. There's pride in her work, and the troubles of the twenty-six year old girl she was outside these walls could wait.

Days turn to weeks, and she's finally thinking she's finding stability within the walls of her new home. There is a whisper in her head that tells her she's just ignoring it all, and she knows it's true but that's not going to stop her. This is working for a good bit, but all good things have to come to an end.

The sweatshirt she sees deep within her closet ends it all. There's no denying it's _his_. She's not even sure how she had made off with it. It's a deep rich navy, and long in the sleeves. Her fingers find their way onto the cloth removing it from the hanger that holds it. It carries a hint of his scent, and she can't help but cling it to her chest as she lets tears that she thought had long since dried roll down her cheeks. There's a shudder of a breath—she needs to get a grip. It's time to grow up she's not sixteen.

Curiosity makes her slide it on over her head. Standing in front of the vertical mirror on her wall she notes it's baggy on her, but that only helps to make it comfortable, and man does it makes her feel at home. She missed this, no, _she missed him_.

Pushing the sleeves up she grabs for her red beanie to keep the chill off. There's a need to visit her favorite cafe the fear to go there since their break up washed away with this simple sweatshirt of his. Maybe this was another form of letting go?

The trip is quick, and she's beaming as she sips her salted caramel mocha, and nibbles at her egg and sausage sandwich. She muses within her head that she dares someone to question her breakfast food in the middle of the afternoon.

The days that follow go quickly and she's fallen into a good routine. She's using his shirt for lounge wear, and it's got her smiling a little brighter, and walking a little taller each day that comes and goes. It's a momentary happiness within her world when she's not Sakura Haruno, the intern at Konoha Hospital but Sakura Haruno, the heartbroken twenty-six year old.

She's been given a Saturday off this week and she welcomes it gladly after so many late nights, and early mornings. There would be no heels, no skirts, and no blouses today. She's slipping the sweatshirt over her head preparing to go out before slipping on her readers. She's meeting her loudmouthed best friend for some shopping, but before that she's craving another coffee, and breakfast sandwich from her beloved cafe.

It's as she's waiting she pulls her rose-colored stands up into a messy bun, and reading through her social media feeds. There is no notice of the eyes that watch her form or the notice of the firm pressed lips set in her direction. Her names called and she takes the order with a smile giving a thank you before turning to finally take notice in the male that's all ebony and all pale. Her hand has halted in bringing the white paper cup to her lips.

He's everything she remembers with his one upraised eyebrow, and soft smirk. He's walking toward her and she feels her heart flutter darting her eyes from his to the polished floor beneath her feet. Her mind is screaming to start walking. They were a long list of used-to-be's, and now nothing more than strangers. His shoes come within her gaze upon the floor and it only makes her throat constrict at his closeness as he stands before her clad in jeans, and an almost identical long sleeve shirt—this one's charcoal. Prayers enter her mind that he won't realize she's wearing _his_ shirt.

The anxiety she feels is awkward and thick as she swallows and, oh god she's rambling, "This isn't what it looks like and I mean I don't wear this thinking of you—us—or whatever it is this probably looks like, and I mean it's comfy and I just—"

"Sakura." his voice sends an almost physical shake throughout her being, and it's just as smooth and deep as it always had been.

It's enough to make her look to him properly instead of leaving her gaze awkwardly on the floor. There's thoughts of the harsh words that fell from their lips in their argument that ended it all, there's thoughts of every tear she's shed since he broke up with her, and there's the thought of his eyes on her as she closed the door to the apartment that was once theirs.

She doesn't know at what point she mindlessly followed him to a table and sat with her coffee and food untouched in front of her. There is the need to remove her eyes from her fidgeting fingers upon her lap, and to excuse herself. Pale green are almost shy as they looked to see him, and he almost looks bored with his head resting in his palm. He's looking out the window of the small cafe in what looked to be boredom—it only serves to remind her she never truly had a clue what he was thinking or feeling—and that other hand his drumming lightly upon the table.

The silence is thick between them, and it only serves to make her bitter that even now, five months later no less, she doesn't know what to say to him. The lines she had rehearsed in all of her made up possibilities of if she ever saw him again seemingly lost within this moment. The drumming stops and he shifts those ebony she had loved so much to her. God does he look tired.

They're still not speaking, and it feels like the argument that had quickly repeated within her mind only a small moment ago is echoing loudly within the establishment. Fingers are curling and uncurling and it serves to only make her fidget.

"Ah, Sasuke-kun—I mean Sasuke-san—I need to be going Ino is waiting for me." her voice is soft and hesitant, and she's mentally screaming at herself for using the affectionate suffix upon his name. They are used-to-be.

He still doesn't speak and it's enough to frustrate her to remove herself from the table. Grasping her cup of coffee, and taking her sandwich in her other hand she starts to raise.

"I've missed you." his voice is muffled from his hand, and she feels like she's completely heard him wrong causing her brows to pinch together.

"What?" she whispers standing fully as she watches him fidget at her question.

He bites his bottom lip reflexively. She's seen it enough times now to know it's habitual, "I miss you."

The words make her flex her fingers upon the poor cup within her grasp. She wants to yell at him. She wants to scream at him. She wants to cry out at his claim. Five months. It had been five months since he watched her walk out that door, five months since she practically drowned within tears wondering all the whys and what she did wrong, five months since she first moved back in with her parents, and only one since she found her new place, and it had been five months of absolute longing and torture knowing she didn't want other fish in the sea, or other mister rights—she had just wanted _him_.

"It doesn't work that way." she mutters gaining his movement to look up at her, "We—you broke up with me?" there is a shudder at the question.

His hand has finally found it's partner giving it a notable squeeze, "I know." he almost sounds pained at admitting it.

There's a shifting of her weight unsure of how to proceed. The smart intern tells her to walk away, but the heartbroken twenty-six year old tells her to stay. She is not Sakura Haruno, intern at Konoha Hospital, right now. She knows she is Sakura Haruno, the heartbroken girl, in these moments, and god does she know she's going to stay right here and listen to whatever he says to her.

The realization is enough to make her set her things back onto the table and sit back down. Elbows rest upon the table as fingers dig within her rose-colored stands pulled into the messy bun. Palms are pressed against her forehead as she gazes at the table, "I cried so much."

"I know." his voice sounds even more pained in this admittance.

"I wondered all the whys, and what I could have done better."

"I know."

"I moved out."

"I know."

"I hoped—waited."

"I know."

Every statement she whispers gives way to the feeling of her chest tighten in that familiar way it does when she's about to cry, and with every response he lets fall she can hear the words tightening laced in what she guesses is bitterness, regret, and assumed panic.

"Why, Sasuke-kun?" her lips are pressing firmly to keep herself together, and force back the stringing tears that threaten to fall.

"Sakura." his voice is a shudder as he pronounces her name, and his fingers have found their way upon on of her own pulling it from her face.

His actions force her to close her lids to keep herself from looking at him. The tears she had tried to keep at bay leave their place to hit the table. Her body shakes as she tries to keep herself together. She cannot and will not break down in this cafe. There is the feeling of his lips upon her knuckles as his hands hold onto the one he has pried from her face. Each kiss is soft and short with hesitance as if he's afraid he'll scare her from him—as if she'll disappear out of his world.

"I came here every day." the admittance he gives is weak toned as if it is taking everything he has to say such a thing.

She croaks out a strangled why, and he's taken her hand from his lips to the table rubbing soothing circles upon her palm, "It's your favorite place—I missed you." she knows he really means that he hoped to find her here.

She's pulling at her hair roughly as she continues forward, "What do you want?"

The chair he sits in is scratching against the floor as she feels him standing and pulling her form from her own. Her free hand has come up to shield her face from any who might see her in such a tearful state. He's shuffling more placing her cup within her hand. His hand has settled for holding her food and pressing upon her back leading her from the cafe.

He knows she will hate herself later if they continue this here, and he knows she likes to handle their matters privately away from prying unknown eyes.

She is settling her heart as they walk into the cool air. There's the smallest note to text Ino, and apologize for standing her up. Clearing her throat she sips her barely warm coffee, "There's a lot for us to work out."

His fingers run up her back and laying upon the joint of her neck, and shoulder allowing his thumb to rub soothing circles at the back of her neck, "I know."

There is a shake within her being as she tries to keep herself calm. There is no true destination. He won't lead her to their place—no it was his place now—and she wouldn't lead him to hers. All the problems that had been overlooked, and all the things they had said needed fixed before they got to the point.

The scent of his shirt fills her nose with the deep breath she takes. The scent is comforting in this moment, and it reminds her of the home she had months prior, and may have with him in the future, "I'm wearing your shirt." she lets out a broken shudder of a laugh.

"I know." his voice only bares the smallest of pain in her admittance as he gives a gentle squeeze at the base of her neck.

There were other fish in the sea, and yet none of them would be him. None of them would have the same earthly almost cinnamon scent that made her feel at home. There were other potential mister rights in the world, and yet none of them could ever be home to her in the way that he was. None of them would have his ebony eyes, pale skin, soft smirks, or an upraised brow.

Regardless of how things went from here she would move forward to see where it led her. She would move forward to find her way back home. She would move forward in hope that it led to him.

She didn't want other fish, or mister rights— _She just wanted him_.


	3. I do

Okay.

So yeah. I recognize that I'm being a bit of an angst shitlord. I promise you though I'll write something less angst ridden next. I don't know why I seem to be in this mode but I'll do my best to write something far less sad next round. Seriously. I definitely do not want this collection to all be depressing and sad. I'll try to make the next few happier, and more fun. If I don't feel free to punch me. I'll take it.

* * *

Title: I do  
Prompt: I burned so long so quiet you must have wondered if I loved you back. I did, I did, I do.

* * *

When she had told him on the phone she had filed for divorce he had not taken her seriously. That was just one of the many mistakes he has made throughout his life. His wife would have never joked about something like that. This woman of pale pink, and pale oceanic green had promised so many things from the start of their relationship to now. She had promised her patience. She had promised her attention. She had promised to always give for better or for worse.

She had not promised to leave, and desert him when the fighting and the arguments became too much to bare. She had not promised to abandon him after tearful screams echoed throughout their home. She had not promised all of which led to the papers that lay neatly upon his kitchen table.

He had not taken her seriously—he should have always taken each argument, teardrop, and shattered voice seriously. He remembered her frustration behind his lackadaisical expression, and his refusal to speak up. He had been to preoccupied under the idea that she would forever stand beside him no matter the strain and frustration it had caused her.

It's here as his fingers run across the papers that would end his marriage that he feels the magnitude of what his world was becoming. He had been gone from her side well before now. He had allowed his work to take him from her. He had allowed himself to create the disconnect that lead to this. He had allowed her to break every promise she had ever made when she said she would be with him until death did they part.

How many times had she tried to reconnect through the simplest of attempts—a text on his phone, a call to his office, an attempt to see him before his next meeting. Fingers found their way to his fringe pulling upon it tenderly letting his lids fall shut as his breath comes from deep within him to settle his frantic heartbeat.

There is the desire to blame it all on her. Yet there was no doubt this was his fault. She had continued to repeatedly give in their marriage—over and over again until there was nothing left of the woman she had been when she walked down that aisle. His phone vibrates within his pocket desperate to bring him from his thoughts that render him trapped within this moment. How many times had he known he needed to be the one apologizing, but let his selfishness keep him from doing so?

She's not even within their apartment and yet he can't help but feel her within every aspect of their home. She was down the hall sitting upon the couch eating ice cream and yelling at the latest episode of one of her favorite dramas, she was within their bedroom reading one of her many large medical books, and she was there smiling at him from the kitchen table as she eats her dinner.

Finding her would be easy if he truly wanted too. There was only one person she continued to turn to within their marriage whenever there was problems. Her blonde best friend surly hated his guts, and was most likely pushing her to go with divorce. Going to the house of her blonde best friend in the middle of the night though would only push her further away. That he was sure of more than anything.

Thoughts of how to salvage his crumbling marriage are what take him to sit exhausted upon the couch within their living room. Loosening his tie only makes him want to sink deeper within the couch as he brings his hands to rest upon his lap with his ebony staring upon the ceiling. What words would he need to find to keep her there? At what point had been too much for his wife? Was it the late nights? Had it been his stubbornness? When had he missed all the signs that she had, had enough?

He knew his marriage had been breaking little by little but there was always the assumption that it would sort itself out. The scowl that sets within his face forces his fingers to come up and pinch his nose. His pocket vibrates once more and it only makes him let out a huff of frustration at who would dare continue to try and gain his attention.

He needed out of this house but unlike her he would not run to his own blonde best friend for comfort. He would not give way to the lingering reality that this was probably unsalvageable after letting his marriage fall so far from his fingers. Sakura never did anything halfheartedly. If she had gone to this point she meant every bit of it, but just the same she should know that he was also never halfhearted and when he had asked her hand he had intended forever.

A groan escapes his lips before forcing himself from the couch and dragging his business jacket close behind him and over his shoulder. Driving would provide some form of release. It would help to settle his mind, and help him think.

It's deep within the night—two in the morning if he's to trust the watch upon his wrist—that he has settled for parking at a random diner. He has no appetite and he has no desire to remove himself from the car. He wonders if all the fears she had were what fears he felt tonight. Did she fear that they had permanently disconnected along this road of life just as he fears they have? Does she fear that he had no desire to spend forever with her just as he felt her desire for divorce claimed she did? Was there fear that he did not love her just as he feared she no longer loved him after gazing upon the divorce paperwork?

Fear—it's drowning him and as it submerges him he can only come up with the most frantic of ideas to piece their marriage back together.

He would beg her at this point. He would do anything she asked. He would give her all that he could. She had known he was not good at conveying things. She had known he was selfish. She had known he was unbelievably thickheaded. She had said yes knowing all of these things, and yet here she was opting out, and that, that right there is what makes him livid, and panicked.

He _had_ loved her. He _had_ wanted her.  
He _still_ wants her. He _still_ loves her.

He still wants to walk this road of life with her. He still wants to wake up to her cooking them breakfast, and welcoming him home after long hours at the office. He still wants her to be beside him when he wakes up for work. He still wants her to do so much with him.

God— _he was so unbelievably selfish_. When was the last time he had let her sleep in on her day off? When was the last time he welcomed her home? When was the last time he cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner for her? When was the last time he picked her up from her shifts at the hospital? When was the last time he came home early from work to surprise her? When was the last time he had done anything for her?

Fingers grip the steering wheel at these thoughts. This is what had left them so broken within their marriage. He was always repeatedly taking everything and never giving back. He cannot contain the anger as he hits his steering wheel with the palm of his hand repeatedly. He could not let her go. There was no other life for him outside of her. He feels the sting within his eyes as they glass over and curses fall from his mouth. His vision is blurring he feels his voice giving way to shuddered breaths.

He needed to clear his head and fast. He could not let himself crumble within his car late at night within the parking lot of some random run down diner.

He does though. He does sits there and he does let out a strangled cry as he digs his fingers within his ebony hair. He does let the anxiety out as his palms press against his eyes. He does let the fear of losing her give way to the grossest of crying sessions within his car.

He doesn't know when the sun started to rise. He doesn't know at what point he stopped crying. He doesn't know when he had wiped his face of it's mixture of snot and tears. He doesn't know at what point his anxiety had taken control and had him driving from the diner. He doesn't even know if she's working as he marches himself in the hospital ignoring her coworkers who greet him. He doesn't even know what he plans to say as he grips the door knob of her office letting himself in without knocking. He doesn't even know what to do when she's standing there startled before him gazing back at him with her oceanic green eyes.

"Sasu—" She might still leave him before the end of this rambling session he's started when cutting her off, but goddammit he won't let her say another word until he's done doing whatever it is he's doing.

"I am selfish. I am the most selfish man on the planet—but _Goddammit_ Sakura how could you possibly think I'd sign those papers. You deserve better. You deserve more than I've ever given you in the nine years we've been together. You deserved better during the first four of them when we dated. You deserved better in the five years that you've been my wife, but _goddammit I am a selfish man_ and I'm not letting you just call it quits on your terms. You promised when you said yes that you would stand beside me. You promised when you said _I do_ that we would be together till we died. You promised you would be there. You lied to me. _You fucking lied_. You're running from us—from me." he is all hurried and is making no sense and his voice is hoarse and staggering as he sits here yelling at her with his scowl decorating his face, and goddammit he is far from done as she reaches her hand out to him in the distance between them with her wide doe-eyes, "What am I _supposed_ to do if you leave? _What am I supposed to do_ —" he's fallen into pleading, and he knows he's pathetic as his voice gets caught in his throat trying to summon whatever power he has left to hold back tears he thought were long since shed throughout the night within his car.

Those eyes of hers, doe-eyed and wide, are glassed over and he can see the tears threatening to fall. This is just another thing he cannot do right in what little is left of their marriage. He can see her taking in his mess of a state. He knows he can't hide the bags under his eyes, and the red of his whites. He knows she can see his clothes wrinkled upon him—his business jacket is still in the back seat of his car. He knows she can see him pleading before her decorated in anger.

"Sasuke-kun, I didn't—I didn't think _you_ wanted this anymore." her lips are trembling as she gives out the most heavyhearted of voices.

"God—What could possibly have made you think that?" she's let her tears fall, and god he just wants to grab a hold of her, "Why would you think that? _How could you think that_?" his steps carry him to her lessening the distance between them as he continues to shout at her.

He's weaved his fingers through her hair, and she's wrapped her arms around his neck. Her tears are wetting his neck and disheveled white button up shirt. Her arms are tightening around his neck as he's pressing her, if possible, closer to him. He's chanting every sorry he's ever needed to say for every fight they've ever had. He's whispering every sorry for every missed special occasion, and every time he's ever given her the idea that he didn't want her anymore. He's giving every apology he can think of and he's only hoping this will keep her standing beside him.

No one has dared to interrupt whatever it is they think is happening within her office. He had forgotten to shut the door behind him when he burst into her office. She's resided to shuddered breaths to calm herself within his grasp as they pull only slightly away from each other. They dare not to remove their gazes from each other. He can only press his forehead to hers as he gives soothing rubs to her cheeks.

"I didn't think you loved me—not anymore." she finally whispers in the silent room.

"I did. I did _goddammit_ —No. I do. _God, I do_." he chants back hurriedly to erase any fear or doubt that could possibly reside within his wife.

He feels her step upon the balls of her feet as she comes closer pressing her lips to his, and he has no intention of letting her lead the way—she's been leading their marriage for far to long. He's tilting his head to gain a better angle as he kisses back. Her fingers have taken hold of his shirt, and he's leading them somewhere. He doesn't have a clue if it's the wall or her desk that she bumps back into. He doesn't frankly care. He doesn't care about anything that isn't her right now.

All at once though it ends, and the silence now is filled with their breathing. He had pushed them to her desk, and his fingers are sprawled along it keeping her right where he wants her as he tries in vain to find oxygen. Her fingers have yet to release him, and he can only pray they don't within her own attempts to steady her breathing. Her forehead comes to his shoulder, and she is tightening her grip within his shirt as her breathing finally starts to slow. It beckons him trail his fingers from the top of her desk to grab a hold of her legs and pull her to sit upon it. His lips find her ear as he continues to give way to his confession that had brought them to this. His marriage had started with this phrase, and he would keep her with this phrase. He would utter it anytime she questioned his love for her. He would whisper it to her at night as she slept beside him. He would chant it as many times as he possibly needed too. He would quell her fears. He would wash away her doubts. He would forever say _I do_ and more if she would keep walking down this road called life with him.

He feels her fingers relax their grip within his repeated words, and it makes panic rise within him and they spill out faster as if it'll keep her from letting him go. He feels his heart squeeze painfully as her fingers let him go, and now she's chanting back to him as those fingers of hers make their way to his face, "I won't go anywhere."

She's repeating it for every I do that falls from him.

"Sakura I've got breakfa—"

They've both been brought to silence at her blonde best friend standing in the doorway with a bag in one hand and cup carrier carrying two cups of coffee in the other. Her blue eyes are eyeing him and it only solidifies the fact that he knows she hates him. There is panic she'll sway his wife from this thing he's doing—whatever it is—and will destroy whatever hope he's gained from her claims to stay with him.

The blonde's brows are pinched together as she spits venom at him, " _What are you doing here_?"

He doesn't speak unsure of where to go from here. He knows he needs to say something, anything for that matter, to keep this woman from stopping his attempts to save his marriage.

"Ino. Stop." he cannot stop himself from whipping his head to his wife who stares upon her blonde best friend. It only takes moments at his wife's command before the blonde's footsteps are heard. He sees the roll of her eyes, and the scowl upon her own face before being out of sight.

"We need to do this somewhere else. You're going to be late for work, and I have appointments." she sounds pained in these moments.

"I'll be home—I'll be there." he knows there's panic in his voice, and as if to quell it she's running her fingers through his hair.

It's with a nod from her that he finally releases her from upon her desk. She's walking him out the door of the hospital. The silence between them is suffocating, and he doesn't know what to expect and the unknown of that makes him want to refuse to leave her side. As if she knows this though she grasps his hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze before telling him she'll see him at home.

He _had_ loved her. He _had_ wanted her.  
He _still_ wants her. He _still_ loves her.

He finds those thoughts to be the ones that keep him distracted from his work as he sits at his desk. All who have seen him have darted from his direction. He has straightened his tie out in the parking lot, and he has placed his jacket upon his shoulders hoping to hide his wrinkled shirt. His phone vibrates and it's now that he finally pulls it from his pocket. He has three unread texts. Two are from his blonde best friend, Naruto. One is from his wife. It's no question which one he opens.

Sitting back within his chair he lets out a sigh of relief. Her text is washing away his fear. Her text is echoing within his mind. He can hear her voice as he reads it over and over again.

 _I love you Sasuke-kun._

His response to the outsider seems completely off the mark, but he knows that she'll understand.  
He knows she'll see the love behind those two little words that he had said during their wedding.  
He knows she'll see the love behind those same two words he repeated in her office.

 _I do_.


	4. Opposites Attract

I won't lie.  
I listened to Shokk - You Reposted in the Wrong Neighborhood when I wrote this. I've had this prompt sitting in my document since I wrote 'Other Fish, and Mister Right', but was struggling how to set this up. I'm not even entirely sure I like this, but hey remember this is all about the fun and the challenge right?

* * *

Title: Opposites Attract  
Prompt: We started racing up the three flights of stairs to class for some reason and we can't stop.

* * *

All overbearing, and all blonde—that was how you could describe his best friend.

He shifts his eyes to the boy beside him. No. Scratch that. Blonde did not begin to cover the air-headed stupidity of his best friend. It was his fault they were running late to school to start. Naruto sat beside him giving way to idle chatter he held no interest in. It was his fault they were even in this mess to start, and here he was as animated and goofy as ever.

It truly made no sense how they became friends. _Opposites attract_ they said, and it's that thought that gives way to a snort.

"Oi! Are you even listening to me, teme!?" Naruto leans into him with his scowl reaching his blues.

"Dobe." he couldn't help but snort again shoving his friend off him to create the much desired personal space he liked.

Sticking his hands within the black dress pants he slouches within his seat watching out the window of the underground rail system. If there was one thing he could give himself credit for it was being able to drown out the rambunctious ramblings Naruto fell prone too so often.

There is annoyance as they hear the call for their stop and the subway train began to decelerate. They're bringing themselves up holding onto the pole closest to them holding their footing and ground as others join to raise and make way for the opening of doors.

Out they are going with a powerful stride dodging through people. They're not late yet, but his best friend's whining at his speed isn't exactly helpful. He had perfect attendance and he'd be damned if he let this moron of his ruin that. Who cares about perfect attendance their Senior year? He does, and he definitely intended to keep it.

The scowl decorating his face gives way at the ridiculousness his friend is spouting toward him. He's still not answering back, but that's nothing new, and Naruto always did talk enough for the both of them. The stragglers who either were either barely on time or late are coming into view and it only makes him want to increase the speed in his stride more. Sliding his phone out of his pocket he gazes at the time upon his lock screen—God it was gonna be close.

Naruto has other plans for him though, and it's at his laughter and a swift pat to his ass that makes him give way to a chuckle at the blondes antics. Sliding his phone back within his pocket lets him race after him with a grin on his face as they pass multiple of their classmates. He hops towards the wall of the school gate kicking off it pulling his fist back just long enough to see the surprise written within the blonde's blue eyes. He can't stop his smirk as his fist collides with it's intended targets face.

He gives way to the smallest of chuckles at his friend holding his head within his arms as he adjusts his white button up, and bag upon his shoulder, "Such a dumbass."

"Fuck you, you ass!" his friend is hissing from the ground but there's a grin regardless of the harsh words uttered.

"Sasuke-kun! Naruto! You're gonna be late!" the feminine laugh that hit his ears has him removing the grin from his lips.

All pale pink, and sea-foam green—that's what Sakura Haruno was made of—she's the intelligent, and softhearted girl within his established 'close friends' circle. Never count her out, and never question any form of mischievousness that makes itself known in those sea-foam green. Those sea-foam green have never left him questioning, and it's as she runs up to them with the brown leather school bag upon her shoulder they bought her for her birthday— _who is he kidding_ Naruto just slapped his name together with his when he gave it to her—that he knows she's up to something.

Her fingers run through his ebony strands in a messy manner as more laughs find their way out of her mouth and she has taken off. He's quick in following the beat she's running with as Naruto's yells to wait fall upon deaf ears. All he's focused on is catching up to her. She practically slams into her locker as she rushes to slip into the correct shoes, and he's doing his best to keep up almost hitting his own locker just a few away from her.

They are exchanging looks between his ebony, and her sea-foam as they rush, and there's the brightest of smiles giving way to her teeth that only makes his smirk upon his own features deepen. One second of hesitation is all she gives him before they are off again and she's weaving and dodging between those that would dare to block her path. The hollers the bystanders shout out are gruff demanding they watch, but just as with Naruto they have fallen completely on deaf ears. There's no ruining this game of chase. He's right on her heel, and he cannot contain the laugh deep within his throat, and as if his laugh was contagious she's giving out the highest of squeaks, and giggles at feeling him so close behind her. It's on the second flight of stairs they pass their History teacher, Anko, and she's screaming for them to stop running.

"Uchiha! Haruno!"

There's no stopping this game of theirs though. He has no intention of letting the girl of pale pink, and sea-foam green out of his reach. He's just about the grab her shoulder when she swings around to the next set of stairs, and he uses his long legs to his advantage to start skipping steps. She's giving way to high pitched squeals— _god it's thrilling_.

Class is the furthest thing from his mind at this point.  
What perfect attendance? He's a senior does it even matter in your last year?  
Hell if he _knows_ , or _cares_ at this point.

There's no clear finish line at first and yet that doesn't stop them from deciding the rooftop is the goal unspoken between their laughing and taunting. There's not much distance between them while their legs carry them down the hall with continued yells to slow down come from all who witness this childish little game of cat and mouse. He's considering letting her have her way until their feet hit the fourth set of stairs. _Oh, no, no, no_ —Uchiha's down lose regardless of how dumb the game—he has no intention of letting her win. Her squeals have turned into calls of cheating as he moves passed her, and he can barely slide to a momentary stop as his fingers slide the door open. The warmth of the sun that hits his scalp feels amazing running to the caged fencing around the roof giving way to broken laughter as his lungs burn for oxygen. His fingers have curled into the metal fence and she's following not far behind him letting herself running into him with desperate attempts to gain air and sooth her own burning lungs.

"Cheater! Such a cheater." she calls between breathes her fingers have found their ways into his sleeve as she bends over with her hand upon her knee catching her breath.

It's gazing upon her disheveled cream cardigan, navy skirt that sits just a few inches above her knees twisted out of place, and her bag at her feet that he can't help but let out more deep laughs. This girl of pale pink, and sea-foam green can only look up to him with those ever mischievous eyes. She's the closest female to him, and he knows deep down she has feelings for him. Thoughts of them have circulated his mind more than he'd like to admit. This right here though is what he fears will change. He doesn't want to lose moments like this between them—and that's not even touching the subject of his best friend's _crush_.

The bell signaling the start of class rings around them echoing in the air. Her wide doe-eyes are staring up at him as she groans at being late. The gentle tugs she gives to fix her disheveled form makes his fingers uncurl from the fence to help her. She stands still as he shifts the cardigan to sit properly onto small frame and smooth out the sections that have chosen to bunch up around her arms. The smallest of touches between them makes this moment feel way more intimate than it should. Those fingers of hers are now shifting his half untucked white button up shirt and fixing his collar that has popped up within their little game. Her fingers are unbelievably careful with their attempts to fix his own appearance.

There's the smallest guilt bubbling within his stomach. They're not doing anything wrong, and yet he feels like he's doing his best friend since childhood wrong within these moment.

"I'm almost done so don't make such a displeased face." she's murmuring as her fingers find their way into his hair to bring it back to some form of a tamed state.

She never lingers longer than she should and she knows he likes his personal space, unlike certain other people. . .with blonde hair. It's as she runs those fingers once again this morning within his hair and touching his warmed scalp that he notes the dusting of pale pink upon her cheeks before retracting them to fix her own tangled long locks. Grabbing the straps of the leather bag _he_ bought her for her birthday whilst adjusting his own properly upon his shoulder gives him time to question for the smallest of seconds if he needs to rein in his ego.

She is giving way to a thank you but he doesn't hand it to her. He walks passed her telling her to follow which she does with no hesitation in sight. They are scolded for their late attendance and childish antics through the halls. Anko is merciless in her public shame as she scolds them for their bad manners this morning making sure to remind them that they are seniors. His best friend is already within his seat—he evidently had been on time, that asshole—with his face holding a grin even the Cheshire cat would be envious of. It's after they take their seats and he's twirling his pencil within his fingers that he feels Naruto seeking to get his attention.

"Hey teme, where did you and Sakura run off?" the blonde is doing what he physically cannot. He hasn't mastered how to whisper even now.

Sasuke can only give the slightest tilts of his head as he rests his chin upon the back of his hand still holding his pencil. Naruto could never seem to get that you had to actually lower your voice more than two levels to succeed in producing a whisper, and like clockwork Anko is quick to scold him as she had done to him, and Sakura in their tardiness. The class follows through with their muffled laughs, and he can pick hers out instantly.

Ebony shift to the window to keep himself from letting his eyes find her seated just three seats diagonally from him. Why his blonde best friend wouldn't just get his confession over with was beyond him. He needed to be more diligent before someone swept in and took her from him. Never mind. There's a scoff at that idea.

It's not till lunch when they've taken their spot up on the roof awaiting her that he pops the question, "Why haven't you asked her out?"

"Huh? What do you mean?" the blondes brows have pinched together at the question seemingly caught off guard by his best friend.

"You like her. Why haven't you asked her?" he responds between bites of the six inch Italian sub he had acquired from the school store.

"Why bother? She's got a thing for you." this what makes him pause mid bite to watch the blonde give a shrug, "It might not be a verbal rejection, but it's enough of a rejection as any." he chews for a second and pauses once more—since when did Naruto of all people think things out like that?

"Ah." he hums out before continuing on with his food settling for the silence Naruto so rarely gives. Ebony fall upon the blonde thoroughly engulfed within his own lunch. He didn't seem to ever give Naruto enough credit in the maturity section. His friend always baffled him when he would give way to such statements that showed his slowly gained maturity. He lets out another hum, "Be careful. Someone will steal her from you."

"Sasuke-teme, stop acting like you don't like her already— _it's annoying as hell_." it is the snort that follows that makes him choke on his food giving way to harsh coughs and the pounding of his fist to his chest in hopes to dislodge the food from his esophagus. The blonde thinks it's funny.

"Oh god, Naruto, what did you do to Sasuke-kun now?" there's a raised pale pink eyebrow to go with that side of sass she's throwing towards his best friend with crossed arms and weight upon her right hip. Clearing his throat eases his coughing fit as Naruto lets out a whine.

Her eyes are fleeting upon the blonde before making their way to his ebony.  
Those sea-foam green of hers never leave him questioning.

She's all warmth within those eyes of hers as she looks at him. He didn't need the blonde to tell him such things. He knew with every look, and every action she took towards him how she felt. He found himself dabbling in the idea of him and her again.

The animated chatter between his two closest friends is what fills his lunch period. He does not know if he feels love towards this girl of pale pink, and sea-foam green. He did know, though, that Naruto might be on to something as strange as that might be. He would wait it out. He would see where they ended up. She will confess at some point before the end of the year, and maybe, _hopefully_ , by then he would have a clearer idea as to what he felt towards her instead of tossing the what-ifs around his mind.

For now though he didn't want to miss out on any opportunities that came with their label of friendship. He could only hope there would be more moments like them racing up the stairs. Ebony fall upon his female friend as he chews another bite of his Italian sub.

She's all pale pink, and sea-foam green. He's all deep ebony, and more of the same. _Opposites attract_ they said, and it's that thought that gives way to the smallest of smirks touching the corners of his mouth.


	5. Ten Shades of Red

Title: Ten Shades of Red  
Prompt: We're studying in the library and there are two people very obviously fucking in the stacks and we keep sharing embarrassed glances

* * *

A flick of her wrist has her eyeballing the watch on her wrist with her other hand holding the brown straps of her red backpack. Friday's were a blessing and a curse. It signaled another completed week of college courses, and in the same hand the longest day of her week with back-to-back classes. Pre-med really knew how to suck the life out of her Friday. It was her habitual routine that had her walking passed the over eccentric water fountain within the student square. The library was the tallest building on campus and just in front of her.

It's amazing how in high school everyone noticed you for every little thing, and yet here in college no one ever took notice of her and her short pale pink locks courtesy of her father. Here though she was practically invisible. There was no gawking, and there was no teasing. Pushing open the glass doors she gives a familiar wave to one of the student workers that seemed to always work the Friday evening shift. They give the smallest of waves back as they sort through the papers in hand.

Fingers trail the books upon the second floor pulling one, and then two hardcovers. Soft steps and pursed lips give way to pinched brows as she walks up the third flight of steps, and then to the fourth. Passing the overwhelming stacks of books she lets her fingers slide upon three, and then four spines before stopping upon one and adding it to her stack.

Walking up the fifth set of steps to enter the fifth floor she cannot help but relish in the quiet that the library brings to her. This was her sanctuary, and her home away from her dorm and roommate. The knowledge upon the walls was seemingly endless, and awaiting her fingers to trail upon their spines before pulling them out and open to gaze those pale green of hers over their texts. The once pursed lips give way to the softest of smiles as she sets her books down upon the table and sets her backpack onto the floor taking a seat. There's hardly a soul lingering on this floor, and that only helps to motivate her pulling out the laptop, notebook, and blue pen she has stashed within her bag.

Deep within her study session as she flips a page of the Foundations of College Chemistry fifteenth edition book does she catch movement from her peripherals. The male that has slid the chair out from the table says nothing, nor does he spare her a glance. His obsidian strands are parted shielding one of his eyes from her, and are just long enough to reach past his chin. There's no shift of his eyes to her, but a clearing of his throat and it makes her realize he's caught her staring at him.

Embarrassment floods her face setting her milky complexion into a shade of dusty pink as she puts her eyes back to her laptop. He has chosen a seat four chairs down so as not to be directly in front of her. The smallest of interest peak at the need to sit upon the table she has taken, and that makes her pale green scan the tables around them noting no others have made their way to them. Rolling her shoulders to ease some of her tenseness within her study session of Chemistry she dismisses the thought giving way to a stretch leaning back into her chair and rocking it back onto its back two legs before sitting properly again and hitting the books.

They sit within the comfortable silence outside his consistent typing as his eyes trail a large hardcover open beside him. She adds to the clicking sound of keys being tapped away with her own keyboard here and there, pausing, and then one flip of a page, and then two. The pauses become more frequent as her brows pinch together before grabbing a hold of the other chemistry book she had gotten from the second floor. Three, four, and then five page flips filter the air after seeking out the term Arrhenius equation within the glossary in the back. Sliding the pen behind her ear she's sliding her and the chair out to rise. Pale green miss the obsidian that fall upon her with her movements. Down the steps, and then back up with the new book opened and already placed upon the information she had sought. Lingering at the table, and yet to take her seat she's flipping through more of the same. The crease in her brow is easing as her eyes drag the page—and then she hears the most _foreign_ of sounds within the library.

Her head whips back leaving the Development of Arrhenius Equation book forgotten within her fingers. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other as she tries to process what she's heard. Silence is what graces her, and then another foreign sound rips through it. Blinking she turns her head to the male who has followed her gaze to the shelves of books before them. Obsidian study her pale green reflecting back his own confusion within his pause in typing.

Swallowing thickly she finds her way into her seat setting the book she had acquired upon the much larger foundations book. Gripping the blue pen from her ear she's hesitant as she brings it to her notebook before scribbling upon the page, and dismissing whatever the odd sound had been.

Minutes transpire between them with his typing back in full force, and her biting upon her tongue in concentration as a moan rips through the air— _wait a minute_ _did she just hear that correctly_?

That makes her pale green widen halting her fingers in their mid scribble of words. Sliding her tongue back within her mouth she subconsciously licks her bottom lips gazing at the rows of books. The male of obsidian eyes, and hair shifts slightly in his seat as a stifling groan hits the air. Pale green flicker to him. He has the smallest look of bewilderment upon his features as if he's questioning if he's heard just the same. The silence is broken with shallow pants, and she feels her face heating up— _oh my god someone is_ _**not** doing that **here**_. His obsidian widen just a fraction more as they share looks at each other. There is the smallest tint upon his own cheeks now as a sharper pant is heard.

Thin fingers drop the blue pen upon the notebook to her right before trailing up to her mouth covering it with the intent to silence anything that may come from her own mouth. Darting her eyes back to her laptop she can only pray that he feels just as embarrassed as she is. Swallowing thickly he seems to settle for going back to his work. This makes her eyes shift back to him for only seconds before silently agreeing to continue on with her own work.

One moan, two panting breaths, and three shudders come flowing through the room, and it's made her seek to hide her face with her hands casting him a glance between her fingers. He doesn't turn his head but he does shift his eyes to meet hers. The male has chosen to try and hide his own face with his wrist pressing to his lips, and fingers digging up in to his fringe that dared to shield his eyes from her glance.

Four loud thuds hit the air, six muffled noises follow it, and now she's seven shades far too red, and too embarrassed to dare look upon the male. What was this even? Who even? Why even? She cannot stop the questions from popping one after another. She feels the shift of him pulling his hand from his face. There is hesitance with the movement of her eyes. Lips are pressed firm, and his brows have pinched together. The light blush that once adorned his cheeks has deepened as he flickers his eyes from the shelves to her eyes in a repeated fashion. Her heart is beating wildly unsure of what to do. There is a feeling of lewdness upon her being at hearing the passionate act of those hidden among the books.

The next thought pops—are they _perverts_ for sitting here?

Pale green flash back to him with the thought, and as if he can read her thought he is shaking his head no with force. The scowl upon his face accompanies the out right denial that they may indeed be perverts for sitting there listening.

Eight broken noises force her eyes to gaze upon her mostly forgotten chemistry. Breathing in deep she prays her increasing red tint disappears. Light drumming on the table makes her raise her eyes to see his fingers tapping upon the table as he cradles his head upon his other hands palm. That subconscious habit of hers happens once more wetting her bottom lip. Obsidian flash at the act and then quickly remove themselves from her to look at his laptop.

The resolve to follow his lead makes her grab her blue pen and flip another page of her recently acquired book from the second floor. She's scribbling hastily as she continues to utter the arrhenius equation within her head trying to drown out the sounds of sex that continue to fill the room.

Nine whimpers, and one loud wail from the woman makes her hand slip running the pen right across her page. There is a scowl upon her face momentarily forgetting her embarrassment at the act occurring as she sees her notes slashed through with that one simple slip.

Ten thrusts that continue to increase drown out what sounds like a chuckle—is this asshole laughing at her? Slowly she moves her head to cast her pale green upon him— _oh my god he is laughing at her._

He's biting his lip in an attempt to suppress the chuckles as his once drumming fingers type each letter lazily upon his keyboard. There's a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, no _goddammit_ it's a downright grin. There's no proof of it, but she's sure he's looking at her within his peripheral view.

A startling groan that's gruff but loud brings her back from the male to stuff her hands upon her lap. If her eyes continued to widen at these speeds she's sure they'll pop out. Heavy breathing fills the air, and now there's the sudden realization that whoever it was having a good time within the shelves would spot them. A simple low, and soft scoff hits the air as if answering the thought. Refusal to look at him has her running a set of her fingers to the back of her pale pink strands to dig them within her scalp. Prayers to have the world swallow her whole ring within her head like a mantra.

One set of footsteps, and then two are heard coming and she immediately grabs her pen for dear life and begins to start scribbling the Arrhenius equation over and over again. She's praying and pleading for any god to keep her from having to make eye contact with the pair. They're walking past them and she doesn't dare steal a look at who could dare be lewd within the library's fifth floor. Does one even need to take in oxygen to live? She thinks not.

Not soon after a tense air has hit them at the disappearance of the two lovers does she hear him grabbing his things. No words, or eye contact is exchanged between them until he is standing and his bag is upon his shoulder. The male is lingering at his pushed in seat, and it's now that she finally dares to look at him in full. Baggy charcoal sweat pants, and long sleeve black v-neck shirt with the sleeves pushed up his arms flood her eyes. The smirk he had been suppressing is still there but it has a touch of softness to it as his obsidian gaze within her pale green. This male is gorgeous and man does it now make her feel self-conscious to be in his presence with her simple lavender flowing top, and black tights. The embarrassment she feels now gives way to a cheesy and almost pained grin.

There's a slow blink from him as he slides his hand within his pocket, and then he turns and leaves her with nothing else.

Monday comes, and Tuesday goes. Wednesday is a blur, and Thursday's definitely not missed. Friday comes and she's making her way to the library. A blush tints her cheeks as she looks at the library still unable to forget last Friday's little adventure on the fifth floor. There's been no sight of the mysterious male that had shared such an embarrassing adventure with her, and she can only thank her lucky stars for that. Her feet only falter long enough to tie her pink strands within a messy bun, and it's in that moment that she sees a shadow cast upon the ground in front of her.

"You're cute when you're embarrassed." his voice is low as he mutters what she's decided is a compliment, and it only serves to make her turn her head to look at who would say such a thing.

It's him— _shit,_ _it's him_ —with his obsidian eyes, and obsidian hair. Royal blue is the color of his sweatshirt, and a pair of black sweats. He's sporting a red, and white flat brimmed hat turned backwards upon his head, and now she's feeling like her large sweater matching her pale pink hair in color that hangs off her shoulder coupled with denim dark blue shorts is anything but cute. Words are trying to formula a response, and he's already walking ahead of her. The smallest of designs sit—a deep rich red and bright white fan—just between his shoulder blades upon the sweatshirt. Shifting once, and then shifting twice she finally follows after him.

There's a wave to the same student that always works on Friday's at the library. She stops at the second floor trailing her fingers upon the spines of the seemingly never ending supply of books. Grabbing three she presses them to her chest before going up to the third floor, and then the fourth stopping to grab her fourth book for the evening to assist in her studies. Fifth floors the ticket, and he's already there sitting in the seat across from where she sat previously. He's typing away at his laptop as she sets her books down and takes her assumed seat.

Fleeting looks go between them as they work on their respective subjects. Five looks, then six. Keeping her eyes locked on his he stops his typing to grab a notebook from the top of his own stack of books she took little notice of. He extends the notebook her way and with a touch of shyness she didn't know still existed within her she reaches her own hand out grabbing it by the spiral spine.

Pale green settle onto the ordinary notebook black in cover, and the word Chemistry in silver sharpie scribbled onto the top of it. She notes what she assumes is his name written in the bottom right hand corner in the same silver sharpie—Sasuke Uchiha, and then she notices the multicolored tabs sticking out from the pages within it. The Arrhenius equation tab grabs her attention, and makes her open it finally. His eyes have yet to leave her, and it's finally as she finishes letting her own gaze trail down the page that she looks up at him.

There's a when, and a how—he's reading her mind again, "I took that class last year." he says in lackadaisical attempt.

Silence falls in place naturally around them as obsidian and pale green stay locked. A moment, a second—seven of them to be exact, then eight and it's on nine her cheeks are dusted in pink, and a whisper of a thank you falls into the air.

A smirk that reaches those endless obsidian decorates his features as he gives a noise of a response, "Hn."

Embarrassment floods her, and it's here she spews out her name, "I'm Sakura Haruno."

His smirk grows into a grin as he gets back to typing, "So, Sakura, how about that fuck session last week?" he's chuckling by the end of the question.

Her skin deepens ten shades of red flushing her— _oh my god he did fucking not_.


	6. Definitely

Title: Definitely  
Prompt: Driving lessons  
Idea: BeatOneHeart

Continuation of Ten Shades of Red

* * *

There's a hum upon his lips has his fingers sit upon his lap within the vehicle he's parked outside her dorm.  
The building has become he's well acquainted with.

She doesn't keep him waiting as she walks from the entrance with her bag slung upon her shoulder. Her hair has grown longer through the passing semesters allowing her to braid it. There's a wonder if she realizes how cute she is—the gray long sleeve shirt, and pale pink high waist skirt with lace design at the ends is _definitely_ her—as he catches the few who give lingering looks.

They had continued their study sessions within the mostly quiet fifth floor of the library every Friday. He may have asked for her number. He may have also started seeing her more frequently. He may have been meeting her for lunch. He may have even learned a thing or two about her. She liked sweets-syrup-coated anko dumplings to be specific. She had made enough faces at restaurants to know she hated spicy foods. She happened to love stories written by F. Scott Fitzgerald—The Beautiful and The Damned was her favorite among his work. She held the oddest of interests in thriller movies.

He _definitely_ wouldn't call them together, but he wouldn't call them separate either.  
There's the smallest hint of a smirk as he finally makes his way from the driver's side to offer his hand out to take her bag. That dust of pink he finds so humorous still finds its way to her cheeks every time.

There's no hesitation as they round the front of his car, and then he's opening the door for her earning another of her infamous soft thank yous. She's stepping in, and that air of shy she seems to always have is fully intact. A close of the door, and back around the car he goes back to the driver's side, and reaching back to place her bag behind his seat. A click of his seat belt, and he's got them rolling down the road.

Obsidian catch her habitual lick across her bottom lip as she plays with her fingers, "It's just parallel parking."

"Sasuke-kun, it's not that simple." she's puffing her cheeks and that only makes him snort at her childishness.

When this woman who studied Pre-Med had given away that she did not have her driver's license he had thought she was lying. Surely this intelligent woman was joking— _she had not been_. It was then and there that he decided to teach her. This was a basic thing for any young adult, after all.

She had actually brought the driver's manual he had picked up for her to one of their more recent study sessions, and that by itself had lead to him teasing her. This woman took something so easy, and so natural unbelievably serious. The way she would squirm when behind the driver's seat was _definitely_ entertaining. Just as natural as it should be for any young adult she had gotten the controls quickly, and she observed and followed what she had read within the book effortlessly behind the wheel.

"Are you sure your father doesn't mind you borrowing his cones?" her lips are pressed firmly as she speaks within the silence.

"Ah—he definitely doesn't." his eyes are fleeting upon her before staring back at the road, "If you do good I'll reward you."

Now that, that right there, has caught her attention. He doesn't need to shift his obsidian to know that she has turned her head to look at him with interest in what kind of reward he would give her. Pulling into the vacant parking lot of the police station his father worked at he parks it within the center of one of the spaces, "Gimme a moment to get everything set up."

There's the subtlest squirm in her as he gets out pressing the trunk. It takes no time to get the bright orange cones out, and set them up. She's followed him out of the car with her arms crossed over her chest. She's puffed the right side of her cheek as she watches him, but after a few silence looks shared between then two she's throwing her hands up into the air and making her way to the driver's side—he doesn't let her open it herself that would _definitely_ be rude in his mother's book.

Adjusting his seat, and mirror are her first priority. It never ceases to make him give way to chuckles at how close she has to pull the seat to let her small frame reach the pedals. A deep breath is inhaled, and then exhaled as she switches the car from park to drive.

First attempt is an absolute bust as she hits two of the cones with the front of his car, and he can't help but snicker at her loud gasp at the sound of her hitting them. Second attempt she's backed into one of the cones, and then comes that embarrassment he thinks is far too cute for a twenty year old woman. There's a third attempt, and then fourth. Fifth is no better, and at six she lets out a frustrated whine.

"You're really over thinking this." he remarks casually running his fingers through his obsidian locks.

"Sasuke-kun!" she's puffing those cheeks of hers again in that familiar childish manner, "What's my reward if I manage this anyways?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" his voice carries the same lackadaisical features his face holds, "Park so I can fix the cones."

The compliance comes with a huff, "What if I really damage the cones? Won't your father be upset?"

He bends down back into the passenger side, "You're not getting out of this. You should be more concerned about damaging my car than a few orange cones." he doesn't wait for more of her childish looks before going behind the car to slide under it and attempt to dislodge the cone effectively under it. A pull, a yank, and an eye roll later has him shuffling out from under the car giving a wave of his hand to move forward. She's dented the cone, and he can only give way to a shake of his head before resetting the cones she's managed to move with the car. He's opening the door, and in the passenger seat once more propping his leg on his knee, "Alright, now back up and try again." there's hesitation and then she's turning those pale green to him. His brows pinch together as he turns to look back her for her delay, "What?"

". . . You're not wearing your seat belt." his eyes widen for the briefest of seconds before he gives another roll of his eyes and does as he's being asked.

Seventh attempt she's too far from where she needs to be, and on eight she's hit the front of his car off another cone, "You mean to tell me that you can take three science classes—one mind you is two above the normal for freshmen—" he's pinching the bridge of his nose, "yet you can't do something as simple as judge how to move a car around cones?"

"Shut up! Some of us haven't been doing this since we were sixteen!" he's raising a brow at that attempt of an excuse—if you could even call it that in his book.

She's mumbling under her breath as she lets out another huff, and moving the car forward, "You just think you're so damn smart don't you." she's moved from drive to reverse as she pushes herself up with the help of the center console to look out the back window, "Well, excuse me, for not having the time to do this while I busted my ass—" there's a whip of the car and her hand slides the wheel within her frustration, "doing volunteer work, and playing volleyball—" he's cut her off effectively.

"Sakura."

"What!?" she's hissing as she looks at him pointedly with her foot on the break.

"So you can do it." there's the smallest smirk on his lips, "Now. Do it again."

He can feel her eyes on him, and he can feel her fingers tightening around the gear shift before looking out the window to see her first successful attempt. There's silence, and then another shift of looks between them. He's counting the seconds down, and it only takes five before her cheeks decorate themselves in that dusty pink he enjoys.

Silence settles between the two of them as she pulls out of the spot she has effectively parked herself in. The dusty pink never leaves her cheeks as she makes for another successful attempt. She fails on ten, but it's not that bad, and on eleven she's just barely managed it. Fingers have propped his head as his elbow leans against the window, "Ahh go a little slower." he breathes out.

There's only a nod given at his command as she performs number twelve. The hum that leaves his mouth makes her squirm within the seat as fingers flex once more around the gear shift at attempt thirteen. It's a success, but still needs work.

Fourteen comes, and she's managed, but the hesitance and the deep concentration on her face is still there. It's as she moves to make attempt fifteen that he places his hand on upon her own that lay on the gear shift. He's inching forward taking in her vanilla aroma as his lips linger at her ear. There's a touch of a grin upon his lips as they move to let out the softest of whispers. There's a startle from her, and then the movement of head to look at him with full attention at what he had dared to say. The grin that had played upon his lips deepen as she begins to turn that shade of red he happens to love more than the dusty pink.

He's _definitely_ embarrassed her, and there is no regret in this as he pulls away from her.

"You—you don't really mean that."

A smirk that reaches those endless obsidian decorates his features as he gives a noise of a response, "Hn." it's absolutely habitual but they've hung out enough now she should be able to know the intention behind it.

Her pale green are studying his face, and he lets her have this moment to digest him before he teases her once more, "Ah, you really are cute when you're embarrassed." her hands have removed themselves from the wheel, and gear shift to settle within her lap, "Sakura, never let go of the wheel."

The scold is light, and tinted with his tease as she quickly places her hands back from where they had come. Attempt fifteen finally comes. There's a thick swallow that constricts her throat. Those pale pink brows are drawn in concentration once more, and just like that she's done it perfectly. The smile that blossoms across her face is far too cute for a woman of twenty. Removing himself from the passenger side he comes around to the driver side to open the door for her as he has always done. He offers his hand to assist her from the vehicle, and she takes it in that shy manner that he has come to acquaint her with.

A hum escapes his mouth as he leads her to the passenger side, "Too ba—"

Her lips have come to press upon his cheek silencing him. That small frame of hers has been forced to step upon the tips of her toes, and her fingers have sought out comfort by tangling themselves within that pale pink skirt with lace at the ends. Obsidian watch as she lowers herself from him before uttering that soft thank you of hers. Ten shades of red doesn't quite cover the rich tint of her skin as she sits with the seat.

He wouldn't call them together, but he _definitely_ wouldn't call them separate either. There's the smallest hint of a smirk as he makes his way around the car. He had teased her with the idea she'd have to give him that small little peck if she failed once more—it seems she had wanted to give it regardless. He takes his time gathering the cones and getting them tucked away within his trunk. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to allow her a small amount of time to let her blush cool.

Sitting within the car he readjusts the seat and his mirrors, "Where would you like to eat?" his question has her gazing at him as she radiates with all the shyness he's sure this woman can muster, "I promised a reward." The smirk he had been suppressing is still there but it has a touch of softness to it as his obsidian gaze within her pale green.

She's flicking her wrist up to allow her to gaze down at the time completely ignoring the clock upon the dash, "It is dinner time, maybe a sit down?"

He let's out a that hum of his that is always deep, and always smooth, "Ah, I've _definitely_ got just the place in mind."


	7. Unmissable

Title: Unmissable  
Prompt: Sasuke praising Sakura for the Mental health center she worked so hard to develop.  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr

* * *

The room is far too full, and far too overwhelming. It's what makes him straighten the navy blue tie around his neck as obsidian gaze out upon those that mingle within their cliques before the festivities begin at the extravagant gala.

There is no missing the Hyuuga huddled into the corner among themselves. His father and mother have been conversing with them since they had entered. The smiles are practiced, their etiquette is perfection, and the mannerisms honed. The tall figure of his brother is just across the room greeting the Senju—forever calm, and collected as he was known through out the business world.

The deepest of inhales comes as he prepares to give way to the same practiced motions his family performs for all within the room. Stuffing his hands within his black dress pants he begins to make his way passed the tables stopping at the one designated for the Uzumaki. Family friend's were always the first ones to hit, and give his time too.

He's all grace as he greets his mother's best friend, and her spouse of blonde. The woman is all the things he's grown accustom too at the age of twenty-eight. The hug she gives is warm, and tender, and the hand shake between him and the blonde is strong and genuine.

"You seen Sakura-chan, yet?" there's no mistaking his loudmouth best friend.

"Ah, I haven't. I'm not even sure what Haruno-san looks like." there's no use trying to fain interest with this one.

The blonde is a moron by all accounts but he could always see through his public profile easily.

"You approved of her project, and the finances for it, but you didn't even think to look her up?" the blonde brow is raising and there is ridicule within his voice.

He wants to object, but that would be a downright lie. He had done just that. He did not see the point in digging further. He had heard her proposal on the phone, and green lighted her request for funds after looking over her project files. The woman was organized, and she displayed her intelligence in every moment they had interacted. There had been no reason to question anything after digging through her seemingly endless documents and plans for a new mental health clinic.

Children had been this woman's goal, and her heart was very much in the right place. The woman had aspirations for the future, and what she wished to provide that future. She had presented a solid case in wishing to provide new opportunities for the young who suffered from a variety of mental illnesses. Her goals, and ambition was one deserving of praise.

"Ah, you could not miss her even if you wanted to. She's very pretty Sasuke-san." the redhead's voice carries the well known and expected teasing.

There's no amusement from him at it though. He hasn't missed the whispers of him needing to settle down, nor his parents subtle attempts to see if he had been dating. Normal twenty-eight year old men may have had time for that but he was far from the average. Everyone who attended this was far from average. There is curiosity though of her claim that he could not miss her. There's interesting in what made her so unmissable. She had sounded normal enough over the phone.

The tap of the microphone that comes from the speakers surrounding them draws his attention, and aids in his escape to have any further remarks about his single status. Everyone is quick to take their place among the designated tables, and he does just the same as he sits beside his mother giving shared small smiles between them as their eyes come upon the blonde he had seen once—or maybe it was twice?

The gratitude she speaks is clear and there's no question she's just as practiced as any of them were when addressing a room full of people. The blonde haired woman gives a long list of praises as she goes over the financial status of the mental health clinic, the progress it has made, and what they hope to bring with this continued success.

"You're not here for me though, you're here for the woman who made this all a reality." there's a grin upon her face as she takes a step away from the podium with her hand extended to her right.

The sound of heels click within the silence as a woman makes her way up the stairs to the stage. There's the oddest of feelings within him as he watches her make her way to the podium. She's poised in her walk. He'd dare to say she was overflowing with confidence. There's no missing the toned legs that make their way within the sway of the deep rich red of her dress—it's elegant and modest, but holds an unbelievably racy look to it.

He's quickly finding out why it is the redhead had stated he would have never been able to miss her. There's the question of if the lights upon the stage are playing with his eyes—those locks are all pale, and all rose-colored pinned upon her head, and then there's those eyes—he's not close to the stage and yet there's no mistaking the glowing viridian that they are. That coloring, and that genetic makeup would be unmissable.

Brows pinch as if to survey what exactly is in front of him.

This woman upon the stage dressed in red, and with the colors of spring had been the one he had spoken to on the phone?

There's an inhale of deep proportions as if to come to grips that the lights are not playing with his head, and that this woman before him is exactly as his eyes have drank her in. Her fingers have come to the microphone upon the podium, and with a matter of moments she's removing it from that which holds it. She's walked in front of the podium as if it is only in her way, and there's a certain level of knowing within her looks as she gazes upon all who continue to await her voice.

Her voice would be all it would take to confirm his thoughts from only moments ago.

Parted lips, and a blossoming smile come over her features, "Thank you all for coming. All of what I had planned and worked for would have been nothing without the contributions from those of you here. Some of you had been skeptical about this project, and some of you made me work harder than I ever thought I could to prove to you this would be worth while." her voice is lighthearted, and higher than he recalls over the phone, "I wish I could describe the vivid details of the smiles that have overcome many of my patients at the mental health clinic, I wish I could explain to you how much this means to them, and I wish I could explain to you the absolute blessing this project has been for me as a person."

This woman is all sun, and earth. She is the essence of hope. Her outlook and her feelings are for all to see. There is no public performance on display. He's been in the business world, and attended enough events to know when it's practiced, and nothing about this woman is practiced within this moment. She's wearing her heart on her sleeve, and there's no denying her absolute raw emotion as she continues forward.

It's a moving speech—there's nothing but pride for all to feel as she paces upon the stage. This is yet one more thing his family's company can put on their list of accomplishments, and it had been by his call. He had but one of the many players in the room who had made this woman's project a reality. He was but one of the many players in the room who had made this happen.

When she had called and sought out the money he had been one of the one's who was skeptical. A doctor wanting to treat was nothing new, but it was as she talked with him with urgency in her voice, and opened the flood gates of what she wanted that had easily washed it away. This woman probably held no ill intent to any she crossed. There's always a fear of someone taking advantage of financial backing, and yet she had dispelled it easily after only a few phone calls.

One person stands, and then two, and then there's three, and he's the fourth, but first within his table to raise from his seat to add to the clapping as the blonde takes the woman's hand in hers and raises it up. There's excitement exploding from the room. His mother, his father, and his brother have joined quickly behind him to give their own praises.

The smile she has is no longer the blossoming one she had started with. It's loud, and it's given way to teeth. She is beaming, and she almost looks childlike in these moments.

They all seek to gather around her, and yet he keeps away. It's far too crowded around her, and it's far too overwhelming for his tastes. Fingers find themselves stuffed within his pocket. The hum that escapes his lips is completely drowned out as he gives way to a grin.

"I wasn't expecting her to be so young."

"Naruto met her during college. She came from small town, but has a brilliant head on her shoulders."

Fleeting a look upon his mother, and the redhead he makes his way to them. There's the smile upon his mother's face as he comes by his mother's side, "Ah, so that's what you meant when you said I wouldn't miss her."

"Oh? Is someone interested?" there's and overly familiar poke to his chest from the redhead, "So you can have interest, can you?"

He can only snort in response at her antics, "Mother, this was a good call. We definitely made no mistake in helping financing her project."

There's a shake of his mother's head with lighthearted laugh falling from her lips, "Look at you shifting the conversation to business. Ahh—you're just like your father I swear."

"Excuse me, you would Uchiha-san, correct?"

He doesn't take his hands from his pockets, and turns to take a step towards the woman of deep rich reds, and pale rose-colored locks. There's no missing her nervousness as she tucks a fallen strand behind her ear, "Ah, that would be me, Haruno-san."

She's quick to give a low nod of her head, "I wanted to express my gratitude correctly. This is my first time meeting you in person. I wasn't expecting you to be so—young? Your voice is much deeper on the phone."

He's finally removing one of his hands from his pants pocket and extending it out to her, "I'll take that as a compliment."

Her hand is much smaller than his own. It's not as soft as he would have thought, and there's a strength behind her grip that is also one he wouldn't have expected. There's a series of high laughter behind him that makes him turn to look at the women behind him.

"Behave Sasuke. We'll leave you two be. I want to see how your father is doing with Minato-san."

He can only let out the smallest of noises at his mother's playful scolding choosing to bring his attention back to the woman before him. It's now that he realizes he still has her hand within his, and yet she seems far to taken by his mother to notice it either. There's that habitual hum he lets out as he moves closer to her bending down to her ear, "Allow me to now personally congratulate you on your success."

There's a dust of pink upon her cheeks as he pulls from her, and then there's that almost childlike look upon her features that accompanies it. He cannot stop himself from thinking the color suits her as he finally lets go of her hand, "T-thank you."

"No." He gives a shake of his head, "The only one deserving gratitude right now is you. You're making the world a better place, and looking towards the future while the rest of us" there's a nod of his head to those throughout the rest of the room, "look only at today."

She gives way to soft smiles, "You do not give yourselves enough credit. You cannot possibly be thinking of only the present if you helped me create something that works towards a future." there's that attempt to tuck another loose strand of pale pink behind her ear.

He can only assume there the action is habit, and he can only assume that this woman who had overflowed with confidence somehow continues to dabble in nervousness as her eyes look anywhere but his face, "Never hesitate to call if you should need anything further. We'd be happy to back you on any other projects you have."

She's shifting within his stare, "O-of course."

"Haruno-san, there's no reason to be so nervous. I'm not going to devour you." there is no fighting the smirk that spreads across his lips, "Am I scary?"

"Ah! No—no I didn't mean to—I just. I guess it's just different when you're right in front of me compared to on the phone." she's given way to rubbing her arm—just another hint of nervousness upon her, "I know you're a very busy man, but would you perhaps like to come see what you helped make?"

"Hm, I'm sure I could fit it in. I'm assuming the number I have on file is your business line? I'll have my—"

"It's my personal." Now that is what has his smirk falling from his lips.

"Excuse me?"

"It's my personal. I was fresh out of my internship when I started working on this, and didn't have my own clinic so I was always working at multiple hospitals. It wouldn't have made it possible to really keep in touch to discuss things with you."

This woman was definitely different from those that were within the wall. The dust of pink upon her cheeks has only deepened with what he assumes is now embarrassment.

"How old are you?" it falls from him before he can think of what exactly he's just asked.

"I'm twenty-nine?" she seems almost confused by the question as her brows pinch together.

"I'm learning all kinds of things about you it seems." he's pulling the wallet from his back pocket as he flips it open, "Here. My personal is listed as well. You can call me to schedule a visit."

"H-how old are you exactly?"

"Your junior it seems. Twenty-eight." there's so much tease in the statement as he stuffs his wallet back within his back pocket. He's walking forward but stops to place a hand upon her shoulder and bring his lips to her ear once more, "Call me, and congratulations again on the mental health clinic, _Sakura_."

There's an overwhelming interest to see if the pink has turned red, but he is sure this will not be the last time he'll have the chance to see such a thing, "Y-yes, of course, _Sasuke-kun._ "

His fingers leave her shoulder as he goes to mingle within the overwhelming number of people he would now used practiced lines on. None of them are quiet as quirky as her. None of them are as unpracticed as she was. They did not wear their hearts upon their sleeves, nor did they give way to childlike features. Their public profiles of etiquette and manners are in full force. There's fleeting looks about the room when the opportunity comes that find her easily among others.

She's all confidence, and back to being poised.  
She's absolutely unmissable.


	8. Of Equal Value

Title: Of Equal Value  
Prompt: An AU prompt could be that Sasuke gets the chance to get his family back but he has to sacrifice something. Like equivalent exchange in FMA. Since he's started accepting his past on their journey he probs won't do it. But Sakura starts the jutsu and tries to sacrifices herself b/c she has the yin seal. But Sasuke somehow stops her and he gets traumatized by almost losing another precious person. I think Sasuke begging Sakura not to leave him alone would be so powerful in the manga.  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr  
Note: . . . I don't know shit about FMA. I kinda did like a quick google search on the whole Equivalent Exchange stuff. I'm probably way off. Meh. I tried.

* * *

He had left all of it behind.  
He had left everything behind.  
He had left those he could call family back within their homes.

This journey was what had brought him to this moment as he gazed upon the walls filled with text. They spoke of how to bring those departed back. He could bring those he had longed for since childhood here and now. He had soaked within his desire for vengeance as a child, he had achieved it within his mid-teens, and now he could fix all of it here and now within his early twenties.

There's a sense of dread within this—there's a sense of wrong within this.

The whispers within the underworld had spoke of a method. They spoke of being able to create that which was loss. For a price.

His back slides upon the wall that faces the text within the wall. Reaching within his bag he pulls from it the small meal he had packed. This decision would not be rushed. He had seen what knee-jerk reactions could cause.

He had failed to read between the lines before. He had failed to read underneath the underneath.

There would be no failure this time. He had done enough of that. He had hurt. He had caused so many around him—friends, enemies, and maybe those of something more—unrelenting pain. They had fought to maintain their bonds with him. They had fought to maintain their ties.

They had fought, and they had won.

The inhale he takes in is deep as his head leans against the wall. The air is cool, but does not cause discomfort. To make this a reality he would have to give something of equal value. To gain anything within this world something must always be given.

The curl of his fingers upon his propped knee seek to give him comfort. They seek to keep his mind from drowning within this concept. The thoughts of those he had left behind within this journey to redeem himself ring with the clarity he had been given when he had accepted defeat. The blonde would have told him there had to be another way. The male of pale lead colored locks would have told him nothing good could come with a price so high. The one with pale pink locks would have hesitated to tell him that it would not work.

The longing for the family he had lost, and the brother he had taken from the world of the living was just as strong as their words that rang within that clarity. Those that spoke while not here were right. They sought what was best for him—they sought for him to find peace, and happiness after the war they had traveled and fought through.

Selfish is all that he is. He cannot stop the pain that comes with loss even within this age of twenty. That is what had been what made him dig further within the whispers. What would be of equal value for bringing them back?

 _Naruto, Kakashi, and Sakura.  
_ They would be of _equal value._

Ebony widen.  
The air is tight within his throat.

He could not— _would not_ —trade them for the other. He was beyond those times when he had fallen deep within his darkness. He had left them this time with intention to return to their side once more. To sacrifice what he had gained, and to give them up would only bring him back to where he had been just years before.

There would be no redemption if he crossed this line. There would be no turning back. There would be no pardoning him for his crimes.

That is all it takes for him to leave this place with only a fleeting glance upon the wall once more. He could only protect what he had now. He would not give into the temptation to see the smile of his mother, or the stern look of pride upon his father's face.

He would not give into the temptation to bring the brother back who had loved him deeply with such methods.

Team Seven was his family with them gone from him. He would cherish them as such, and he would depend on them as he would have the ones he had hailed from. He had acquired a brother in the loss of his own, and he had acquired a parent in the loss of his own.

He had acquired one who loved when he had been stripped of the ability to love even himself.

The journey is long and he holds no qualms with this. It's peaceful, and he is helping those he comes across. He had wanted to see this world with clearer eyes. It is all around him. It is all that he breathes in and all that he feels.

There are those that wish to fight, and wish to harm him for his name. There are those that still hold anger within them at what pain he has caused so many unknowingly or intentionally. He does not blame them, and he does what he can to allow their frustrations to be released. He cannot expect all to forgive, and he cannot expect all to forget.

It's as he leaves a shop within some village far from home that he hears the voices of those he knows well. Ebony find them easily. Four of them are here. The Hyuuga who had never spoke, the genius who had been the strategist in place of his father, the artist who had been meant to replace him, and the blonde you could not miss. He is not all the smiles he expects. There is a tangible solemnity within them as they finally explain that the girl turned woman he knows so well for her pale pink has gone missing.

His fingers curl within the package he has just bought—they are just items for travel.  
Who had taken her, and where had they taken her too?

He is quickly shot down in those thoughts. She had left all on her own.  
There is a wild beat of his heart at hearing such things.  
What had drove her to this point? What had made her leave her home?

The strategist is the one who explains as Naruto voice could no longer find it's way from his throat. She has heard of the same rumors he has. She has gone in search of what he had already gone to find. She was looking for the wall that held the same scribbled text.

 _It is far from here._

How long had she been gone, and how long did he have to make sure she had not reached such a place?

He gives no words as he moves to leave. They call after, and then they follow in his hurried pace to span the distance he has already traveled. The beat of his heart will not calm until he has found her. There was such certainty that she would never even consider such methods.

What had she lost that she was willing to give of equal value?

There had been no word of such things, there had been no whispers among them when he had finally come home of such loss, and yet she was looking for the same thing he had found. He is desperate to understand what had pulled her enough to this. He cannot understand how this woman of pale pink, and warmth would ever consider such a method.

She was intelligent. She knew and understood how such forbidden tactics never held promise of happiness in the end.

The seconds—minutes—hours—days and all the time in between come and none give word of their exhaustion with the pace they set. They feel the urgency to get to her that he carries. They understand the panic that has overtaken him in the moments he has heard of her running off.

The lack of sleep is heavy upon them. They had urged for rest after forty-eight hours. They had told him that they could not continue in such exhaustion, and yet Naruto had stood beside him in agreeance that any time spent not growing closer would only let her increase the distance.

They climb the mountain he had climb only weeks ago. There is no desire for normal methods. He can feel her there within the same cave he had sat within as he gazed upon the method of creating what one had lost. He leaves them to travel with their own methods with his use of Amenotejikara. He can hear noises within the cave and light he can only assume is from her attempting the exchange.

He can only gaze as she turns at his appearance. The glow of her viridan is far brighter than the blue that comes from beneath her.

"S-Sasuke-kun." She's whispered between them with her thumb pressed within her palm.

The deep rich red that coats her thumb— _she's bitten into it to start what he would not._

He had learned to think things through. He had learned to not make such knee jerk reactions. He had learned to gaze upon the world with a new light. He had learned that if he had changed this point of view far sooner than he had he may have learned to love so much sooner from this woman of pale pink.

There was never a time when he could not read her—even within their distance and time from each other when he had left her for his own selfishness. The smile that is on her face is one of cheap quality. It is not the one that smile's from within her and into her viridian. It is the smile that she gives when she is wishing to conceal her heart.

That is all it takes for him to understand what it is she is doing, and why. He had never needed words with her. They could give looks, and know what the other felt. They could stare upon each other with an understanding that he did not have with others. She read him as well as he read her.

What would be of equal value for bringing one of his family members back?

 _Sakura.  
_ She would be of _equal value._

Ebony are wide eyed and his heart has halted its assault within his chest. She was doing this for _him_. This girl who had cried and begged to take his pain onto herself. This person who had become precious. This girl who had been the one to love when he could not even love himself. She sought to give him even just one of his family members back. He would lose her if she did such a thing. There would be no coming back to her deep within the village that was his home. There would be no warm smiles and glowing glances at him. There would be no Sakura Haruno if he let her do this.

 _He cannot lose her.  
_ He has lost too much already within these twenty years.

He is not gentle nor is he tender in his assault upon her. He has taken her down easily—she has not fought him with that strength of hers that could make the earth cry out as it shattered under her knuckles. He has pinned her arms to the mountains terrain.

"Sasuke-ku—"

"No. Do not leave me— _do not leave me alone_." He cannot even fathom how his face is decorated before him. All he knows is the panic that has left him breathless within it's thoughts of her no longer there within Team Seven, and her no longer awaiting his return.

"Sasuke!" The blonde yells from the entrance in seeing his best friend on top of their pale pink haired team member.

He cannot hear him. The only thing he can hear is her breathing beneath him as she stares up at him with those wide doe-eyes of her, and lips trembling, "Sakura— _please_."

Those tears she lets fall so easily whenever he is involved come with that plea of his, and she finally uses that strength of hers to allow her hands to be freed. If she was determined to go through with this could he stop this woman? If she was willing to give herself up for his happiness to this extent could he keep her from doing so? Was her determination on the level that his vengeance had been once upon a time?

It's her arms though that circle around his neck that he had not been expecting as she pulls herself to hug him from below. It is overwhelming in all of the tears she sheds as she whispers her apologizes. His own shaky hand that had taken its place upon the earth in her removing them from her own can only push her closer to him. He does not know what words to say in this moment. He cannot even find himself able to erase the wide eyed expression upon his own features.

He can only picture him unable to do this if he had no sought to stop her. He can only picture him unable to feel all the love she always continued to give.

It's a fear he had not known until now.  
She had gone even farther than he thought possible.  
She is a woman of so many possibilities and so much heart.

She truly had only ever wanted his happiness, and she continued to try and give it to him no matter the consequences.  
The feel of her hair is what begins to ground him and allow him to breathe once more.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." Her cry is strangled within her throat as her own hold upon him tightens.

" _Please, don't leave me_."


	9. It Can Wait

Title: It can wait  
Prompt: "What trouble did you get into this time?!" Sakura asked as she hurriedly opened a storage box filled with medical supplies. She wanted to be angry at him for being stupid, for not being careful, for coming back to her life just like that. When she opened her front door a few minutes ago, he was the last person she was expecting to see. She would've slammed the door at his face if she hadn't seen the blood that soaked the front of his shirt. Now he's bleeding out on her couch and all she can do to stop herself from worrying is to reprimand him while setting up the supplies. "A normal person would go to a hospital, Sasuke. Not a private residence! I don't have enough supplies here!" He managed to crack an eye open and gave her a tired smile. "then that'll just have to do," he rasped.  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr  
Note: To the Guest who asked about my tumblr I go by Ombreecha on there. There's also a link to it on my profile on here.

* * *

There's only the smell of the lit apple cinnamon candle, and the warm ginger tea within the air as she sits upon her couch fully intending to immerse herself within the romance novel she had picked up from the store. It holds some small weight, and looks all the more enchanting as her fingers run across the cover—Sense and Sensibility—the title had been what had grabbed her interest.

The flip of the pages come within time, and she barely recognizes when her fingers grasp the handle of her mug to bring it to her lips. The taste is one she enjoys, but it's not even noticed as she's immersed within the Jane Austen novel.

There's no concept of time within these pages before her, and it's all the more welcoming with how long her week has been. There's a sound, and at first she barely notices it. The more it happens though the more she realizes there's someone at her door. The sound has finally brought her back to the here and now. Pale green look to the clock sitting upon the wall. It's almost eleven at night, and she cannot imagine who it is or why they have come. It's _not_ the hospital—they surely wouldn't have come to her small apartment complex to get her seeing as she had a pager. It _couldn't possibly_ be the neighbors as most of them are old. It _could_ be her blonde best friend though with her latest relationship details.

There's the shift of her mouth—it's a pout of she's being honest—with this new disturbance upon her evening of books, and tea. Placing the book upon her coffee table left open to hold her place she can't help but let a disappointed breath fall. Whoever is at her door it _can't be good_.

She's quick to answer the door in an effort to stop the repeated knocks that come, and ready to scold who would dare bother her this late at night—there's obsidian locks, obsidian ocular windows, and pale skin that greats her. His arm sits upon the wall as he stands within her door frame. Fingers clutch his side revealing he's not just obsidian, and pale before her—there's red and it's soaking through the white t-shirt under the black blazer. The air she had been so easily enjoying is no where in sight at that which floods her pale green.

Of all the things she could have thought to grace her in the dead of the night _he_ was far from the list. There's a flush of anger, and then there's the concern that follows in its place. The grip upon the door is one that cannot decide if it wishes to slam the door within his face—the concern for his health, and state beats the anger. Fingers grip the arm that had remained propped upon the wall allowing him to lean within her door way. His low breathing is concerning, but the anger is feeling mighter than the concern right this minute. She's not rough, but she's not gentle in dragging him in and shutting the front door behind her.

They hadn't spoken in _years_. He had sought out a job that held promise of danger—he had always dreamed of being a police officer. She had sought a job that would let her help those in need—she had always dreamed of being a doctor. Their ambitions, and their wishes within the adult world had separated them far easier than they had thought possible. College was were they met, and for a time until this very moment she had thought that is where they would stay.

The anger has found its way back within her throat. It's begging for release upon the injured male that she forces to the couch as she makes her way down the hall in search of her medical kit.

 _Was this man stupid?_  
She cannot recall him being so.

 _Had this man never heard of a hospital?_  
She cannot figure out how he knows where she lives.

 _Was this man trying to give her a heart attack?_

She's sure he is if he's decided to seek her out in this state.

"What trouble did you get into this time!?" There's no stopping the lividity from escaping her with such thoughts. The anger and the frustration do wonders at hiding the worry behind every bitter remark that starts to fall from her lips as she rummages through her storage closet seeking the medical kit, "You absolute _moron_. Did you lose your brains _after college_? Are you _stupid_?"

Fingers find it soon enough, and he has yet to answer her within her calls to ask if he is, _in fact_ , stupid. The lack of a sarcastic response is one that sends light fear through her. He had yet to open his mouth since she opened the door.

Her pace is quick and she's forgotten to close the closet door behind her as she makes her way to him. Her heart beat quickens as she takes in his appearance upon her couch. The pain is unmissable within those obsidian that gaze upon her ceiling only to slide upon her in slowed movements. His head lays back within the back cushion as harsh breaths fall from his lips in discomfort. Those fingers of his continue to cling to the wound that soaks not only his shirt, but now stain her couch. The shakes his legs have fallen into cannot be missed as they sit spread before the coffee table.

There's no hesitation in sliding the tea and book down the coffee table, and away from where she had once sat, and where he now sits. Taking her spot between his legs and sitting atop the coffee table takes no thought. There's a grunt of pain, and lashes close as she forces his hand away from the wound, and she slides the shirt up his person. The wound is deep and upon current inspection he needs stitches—yet here he sits in her living room and not within a hospital, "A normal person would go to a hospital, Sasuke— _not a private residence_! I don't have enough supplies here!"

Pale green catch one of those paler than usual lids slide back open as the tiniest of smiles comes within the corners of his mouth, "Then that'll just have to do."

His voice is a rasp and it's sending her into more practiced motions, "Hold your shirt up for god's sake." she's desperate to keep her fingers from shaking as she opens the cleaning solution and begins to sterilize the tweezers within her medical kit. Chanting the practiced steps within her head is what keeps the worry from taking over. She's done this all before. She's done this more times than she can count, but never had she ever had to do so within her home upon a man she hadn't seen since graduating college.

Mild saline solution is her go to, to flush out the wound, and keep from damaging the tissue. Blood continues to stain her couch, and coat her hands with each thing she does. There's something heartbreaking about seeing his skin painted within the deep rich red that sends a touch of panic through her. She knows what she's doing is the right way to go though because it means the area is less likely to become infected— _as long as he continues proper care after she's done what she can_.

The wound is deep but not as deep as she had thought after flushed out. Relief floods her senses at that she will be able to do at least something with what little supplies are in her medical kit. Clean gauze is the next thing she grabs to wipe the surface, and begin to applying pressure to lessen chances of anemia. There's sweat upon his brow and she hopes it's just from the pain. He's grunting with the applied pressure, and dragging his hand up to grip her arm. Lips parts and even harsher breaths leave him. Wadding and medical tape is what she uses to cover the wound with what little supplies she has. He needs to keep it moist to get faster recovery, but hydrogel isn't something kept within this small box of medical supplies.

"Sasuke, _what have you_ _gotten yourself into_?"

"— _kun_." He whimpers out between the series of pants that fall with each hurried rise and fall of his chest.

"What?" She's bending closer to make sure she's applied the tape and wad correctly upon the wound even as his fingers tighten upon her arm, "Sasuke—"

"— _kun_." He hisses between gritted teeth in what sounds to be like agitation, "You're leaving off the ' _kun_ '."

Pale green can only widen at his words halting her fingers for only the briefest of moments before curling her own fingers upon the arm that has allowed him to grip her. She _cannot_ let this man distract her with things like this while she's treating him. He's heavier than she expects within her pull to bringing him to her. The groan that comes from him is hot upon her neck, and she finds it hard to ignore the curl of his free hand within her baby blue night shirt. The pants shower within her ear making her heart ache with the obvious pain he is in. There's a small mental note of his loud heart, and the warmth that comes from his skin as fingers begin to wrap the gauze around his waist— _it's smaller than she remembers_.

The croak that comes from him is low as she sets him back within the couch, and make her way into the kitchen to clean her hands of the deep rich red liquid that coats them. He needs to keep his torso from bending, and she's running through her head all the ways that she can do that.

He cannot sleep on her couch with it in its current state. Infection and bacteria would find their way into his wound, and possibly harm him more. The last thing she wanted was to see him in more pain. She immediately she decides that he's taking her bed as her fingers work the soap she's covered them in off her skin.

"Come on, you need to sleep." Her voice is far weaker than she intends suddenly finding herself unable to keep the flush lividity she had felt in the beginning within her tone.

Those obsidian are even slower to look upon her as sweat slides down his face. It only seeks to increase the ache within her chest as she helps him from the couch to her bed. He's doing his best to pull his own weight in making it down this hall, and yet the sharp breaths, and inhales do nothing but make her brows pinch harder, and mouth dip further within her unspoken worry.

Watching him lay within her bed gives her some form of comfort as she lingers her gaze upon him. She's going to have to leave him to go clean the mess that is her living room. The smell of iron is strong upon her shirt, and from the living room making her head swim at how much blood he had lost tonight. The doctor in her already is deciding he needs blood when she takes him to the hospital in the morning. Turning to leave she is unable to make it far from his side—she's only made it to the door—before he speaks her name within a wheeze. Pale green cannot stop themselves from looking within his obsidian.

"Sleep." her fingers run within the rose-colored strands that have managed to stay within the ponytail she had placed them in earlier that night.

He lets loose another one of those raspy replies he's been making since he's been within her care, " _Not_ without you."

Her mouth parts in desire to respond, and yell at him for his stubbornness and ridiculous requests. She doesn't though. Doing that is helping neither her, nor him. Fingers find themselves within the locks that spill across her pillow hoping it provides him with some form of ease, and peace. She can only muse within her head as she rubs soothing circles upon his scalp that he truly was always _far too pretty_.

She's still angry, she's still hurt that he would come to her after so long in such a state, she's still scared out of her mind that she hasn't done enough, and she's beyond glad that the worst of it seems to be over. There's so much she wants to say, and there's so much she feels within her that echos in her mind threatening to find its way into the air. There's the demand of what has obviously caused this state. There is the urge to yell at him for not being careful in whatever he's gotten himself into. There's the need to ask him why he knows where she lives. There's the desire to know why he's obviously kept tabs on her. There's the longing to know if he intends to stay within her life.

She's no longer the twenty-two year old he walked away from. He's no longer the twenty-two year old she allowed to walk away from her. They're adults. They've been adults for a long time.

It can wait though. It can wait till morning. It can wait when she's had time to process all that has happened. It can wait till he no longer is fighting to keep those obsidian open. It can wait till the small fever that's made it's way upon him has lessened. It can all wait.

Her fingers stay within his hair as she settles for the floor and leaning her head upon the bed to keep her eyes upon the slow drag of those obsidian. Those lashes of his finally no longer raise and his breathing while weak sounding only helps to confirm his sleep.

A hum of sorts escapes her as her own lids have started their own heavy fall. They're dipping closed and opening with the slowest of movements as she tries to watch over him.

 _Sleep sounds wonderful_.


	10. Possibilities

Title: Possibilities  
Prompt: An hour into her new job and Sakura's already regretting giving customer service a chance. Did she just want to get through her first day without any incidents? Yes. But somehow, some almighty power must be testing her today because a group of cool kids around her age decided to be obnoxious and act like they owned the place. But there was one boy in particular whose very appearance screamed "MONEY." He was quiet unlike the rest but he wasn't telling them not to be loud either. She narrowed her eyes. Probably their ring leader. The manager immediately turned to Sakura and handed her a pad of paper and a pencil. "Take their orders. Be as polite as you can be, especially to the quiet one over there. Don't ask them to pay. Just say that it's on the house" he instructed.  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr

* * *

There's no missing the ruckus that comes from the group of males. Pale green find themselves following their movements headed for a booth and there's a groan within her mind at watching them within their loud and obnoxious movements. A pale pink brow can only raise as she leans against the counter with her hands deep within the pockets of the forest green apron wrapped upon her hips in the mostly dead, quaint and homey diner she had caved and decided to work at part-time as she went to college.

Training had gone quickly, and it was her first day out taking customers without shadowing another server—waitress, let's be real here in saying there's no reason to try to pretty the term up. She's not sure who she has managed to anger within the ever vast spectrum of gods to give her such a loud group on her first day but there's only the silent plea that maybe someone else will take them off her hands feeling sorry for her.

The blonde is all noise, and all loud, and the brunette is no better—they're bickering like absolute children. The slightly heavier one is whining, and the one with pulled back locks is letting out a groan—they truly were creating just as much noise as the other two. Then there's the one within the middle of it all stuck between the loud blonde and the one with pulled back locks of hair. He's calm, and he's collected. He's got his elbows on the table with threaded fingers—he's not speaking a word among those creating such noise within the restaurant.

There's the urge to snort but her mother taught her better than to do that in public. She can only guess they're around her age, and that only furthers to plunge her within the dread of having to take them. Running her tongue across her teeth she cannot help but feel as though the one stuck within the midst of the group has to be the one calling the shots—was that even a thing still in college?

Pale green can only continue to digest him with the deep navy beanie upon his head hiding most of his obsidian locks, and layered look of white under shirt peaking out from the navy sweater he's sporting. The watch upon his wrist is the next thing she catches. It looks expensive and that absolutely screams trouble if her mother taught her anything else outside of lady like appearances when in the public eye.

There's no stopping the exhale that comes from her blowing her pale pink locks from her eyes before her manager is beside her. The tightened jaw only seeks to feed her soon to be demise at serving them. The pad of paper and pencil are easily shoved to her forcing her to take her hands out from her apron to grip what they've pushed upon her.

"Take their orders—make sure you're as polite as possible especially with the quiet one. They're not to pay it's on the house, and for god's sake smile." the hushed whisper is far from what she would have expected, and it only serves to make her believe even more that taking this job was a mistake—why didn't she apply at a book store?

A deep in hale to settle her nerves and then she's moving forward making her way to their table. There's no missing their eyes upon her and it instantly reminds her to smile. It's cheap, and it's as fake as one could get but she can only hope it doesn't look as bad as she knows it is.

They quiet down as she stands before them with the pad and paper out and ready to scribble their order down, "Welcome, my names Sakura, and I'll be your server. What can I get for you today?" she's beaming at them loosing a touch of the cheapness as her voice comes out to help in making her look at the more happy to assist them.

There's the oddest hesitation she hadn't expected from a group like this but then it's gone as fast as it had come with the slightly heavier one requesting everything from an appetizer to the thickest burger they have on the menu with additions of doubling the meat, cheese, mayonnaise, and cut the onions. The blonde, and the brunette don't give her half as much trouble. The one with pulled back locks is simple in his request for the fajita wrap, and then it's all eyes on the man in the middle who's yet to remove his eyes from her as she has made her way to each of them.

That hesitation is there, and it almost makes her question if there is something on her face—maybe she got something on her white button up shirt while making a new batch of coffee?

The clearing of his voice causes her to come back from her thoughts and then there's no stopping her eyes from following one of his hands leaving the company of the other to rest upon the table.

"Coffee—black. Chicken pasta with extra sauce, and tomatoes—add extra tomatoes to the side salad too." his voice is far smoother than it should be allowed, and the firmness in his voice is absolutely unmissable.

"Will that be all?" her voice is tight within its reply feeling caught within her throat.

"Yes." there's no room for question with a voice that smooth and commanding.

"I'll put that in now." she swears if the heat on her cheeks is a blush she's going to have some very firm words of her own for herself within the backroom.

There's the turn to move and then the call of the blonde, "You new?"

The smiles back within its needed place as she turns to respond with a hum, "Ah, yes today's my first day."

It's when the blonde doesn't look to say another word that she's off grabbing their drinks, and putting in for their appetizer. They're back to being obnoxious once more, and even at her station she can hear the brunette poking fun at one of the other boys.

The tray is balanced relatively easily within her palm as she slides her pad within her pocket. She's quick in bringing their drinks, and the call for their appetizer as her shuffling back relatively easily. There's the oddest feeling of eyes upon her but she's quickly dismissing it as she slides the side salad with extra tomatoes, and potato wedges upon her tray next.

She's gentle in laying it down reciting the things the server she had trained with had said when explaining how to make sure nothing startled the guests. There's no missing obsidian as they watch her in these moments, and it only stands to make her feel self-conscious even more in these unpracticed movements. Pale green are fleeting in capturing that which eyes her with what she can only gauge as the smallest of interest with such a lackadaisical look upon his features before leaving their side once more.

Rolling silverware comes, and then two more guests that make it far easier to ignore the continued lingering feeling of being watched, and it's just as she's finished taking the new customer's orders that she hears her name being called for their food. There's a stop at their table noting his lack of coffee and then there is the grabbing of the empty plate of potato wedges, and mostly eaten salad.

The manager has made their to her asking how they're doing, and she's quick to respond all is fine feeling as if any other response could easily cost her this job—it only serves to make the hair on the back of her neck stand. She's stacking the plates and grabbing another tray with the manager assisting to make sure it's taken out promptly. The follow of her manager only makes her all the more nervous as she begins to dish it out. There's the silent wish that she had looked over her pad one more time, and yet she's managed to remember which order goes to who making her relish in not messing it up here and now.

She's quick to tell him she'll bring him more coffee with that same cheap in quality smile across her lips. It's really only a matter of seconds before she's back to their table and pour him more coffee and asking if they like the food. All but the male chewing away at his pasta, and the male of pulled back locks seemed to have never been taught to not speak with their mouth full. There's hope though that they can't possibly find the oxygen to continue such rowdy behavior while stuffing their faces.

Leaving their side there's that final moment of eyes no longer upon her, and it seems to wash some of the nervousness from her as she goes to get the food for her new customers. The quiet that comes within her tables is a welcomed change, and she can only thank the god who had seemed so merciless in hanging her these boys in the very beginning that nothing has gone wrong.

It's here and now that she find herself being the one to eye the male of obsidian locks. He eats far to perfect, and there's no stopping the slide of her pale green as his hand takes the fork to his lips. There's a moment when she notes him actually opening his mouth to say something to one of the others, and then his fingers are bringing that same fork up with a tomato to his mouth before she removes her eyes from it long enough to see him shifting his gaze to her.

That's all it takes to make her air catch within her throat and heat hit her cheeks before darting her eyes from him to look at the floor as if she had been caught stealing.

It's a couple minutes and then she dares to remove her eyes from the floor and those eyes of his have yet to leave her and only serves to make her fingers curl within the pockets of her apron. A thick swallow, and a shift from leaning against the counter and she's turning to make more drinks, and bring them out to replace the almost empty ones of his friends.

Replacing the blonde's is what makes his voice come out muffled by food, "So how old are you Sakura-chan?"

"I'm eighteen." she answers swapping more of their drinks out.

"You going to school in the area?" he's eyeing her so pointedly as he brings the burger to his mouth to take another bite.

"I am. I'm going to the University in the area for Pre-Med." the smile so cheap in quality is being replaced with a tint of genuine interest in this conversation.

"Oi! We go to that school." he's grinning within his eating, "That's super cool! Maybe we'll see you around!"

"Ah, it's a possibility." she got her knuckles pressed within her hip and her tray by her side, "Anything else I can get you, boys?"

"We're fine." the answer comes from the quietest member of the group as he brings the mug of coffee to his lips.

There's no awkward exchange of glances this round and she's feeling herself able to relax even more. Maybe she had judge them wrong. Maybe they weren't as bad as she had feared. Maybe she had let first day gitters get to her.

They finish their food without hassle, and only some bickering before she's come to grab their empty plates.

"Where's the bill?" she cannot help but muse over that commanding tone of his.

There's no hesitation in her response, "It's on the house. Let me know if you boys need anything else. If not have a good night."

She's left no room for discussion giving one more of her cheapest smiles and taking their stacked plates to the back to be washed. The playful banter of the washer is there and she can't help but let out a laugh as she exits that's far louder than she intended.

Turning the corner to finish cleaning up their table she cannot help but stop within her steps. They're all gone but _him_ —the male with the expensive watch upon his wrist has his hands deep within his pockets as he leans against their table. The smile falls from her lips easily and she cannot seem to remember to plaster one upon her immediately as she had been told to do throughout this exchange of theirs.

There's a blink from her, and he's pushing off from the table as he comes closer to her and within her personal space. She had missed how much height this boy had had when he had entered it seems. He's towering at least a head above her. The firm pressed line of his lips can only make her question if she has said something to offend him, and there's the nervousness that comes as he leans in towards her never taking those eyes of obsidian from her.

"Serving is beneath you." he's whispering within the short distance between them.

Pale green can only widen at his words—what did this boy possibly know about her to make such comments? She's not even sure she's figured out how to breath with his earthly scent making its way into her nose, and it's just like that she feels his fingers within her apron and right back out.

He's finally made his way from her personal space, and there's the slightest touch of what she can only guess is the signs of a smirk upon the corners of his lips before walking passed her, "Have a goodnight Sakura."

There's the whip of her head to watch as he makes his way out the door. Her heart is hammering and she's more than positive that there's a blush upon her cheaks. He had had his hand within her apron and it's only now that she looks down to see what he had placed within it. The small roll of money makes her swallow thickly as she unrolls it to see how much he has given her, and it's as she does that, that she sees the slip of white tucked within it.

Pale green run over the slip with scribbled writing. He's left his name, and number upon this little piece of paper, and it only seeks to make her heart beat—if possibly—harder. There's the run of her tongue across her bottom lip as she reads out loud, "Sasuke. . .Uchiha."

It's the call of her manager scaring her half to death that makes her drop the slip only to reach down to pick it up. Running her thumb over the slip her eyes wander to the door he had exited.

 _Maybe she would call him._  
 _Maybe she wouldn't._

She didn't need to decide right this second—she had the whole rest of her shift to argue with herself over the _possibilities_ , after all.


	11. Pretty

Title: Pretty  
Prompt: friend of a friend needs a place to stay before they get evicted  
Note: Holy shit, my dudes. I'm so tired, and this is so not good, but I got my second one out for NaNoWriMo. Never work 12-12 and then try to write. I was like dozing in and out of this mess. Fuuuuuu.imsosorry imjustreallystubborn.

* * *

He's not sure what had possessed him to agree to let a stranger into his home— _let alone live with him_.

Waking up at five in the morning to frantic knocks upon his door had soured his mood. The begs of the blonde hadn't been what he was expecting when he had opened his door prepared to chew out who had disrupted his sleep. The blonde had been rambling, and decorated in concern when he had pushed his way into the house. There was that habitual need to pace as he went through the motions to explain what had made him come with a favor of a lifetime—so he had called it. There was a friend evidently that was about to be evicted, and needed somewhere to go. Fingers had pulled at the blonde locks giving way to promises that this friend of his would cause him no issues and would only stay until they found a new place to live.

 _Ah.  
_ Never at any point did he explain what this friend had done to be on the _verge of eviction_.

It had been hard to turn down the blonde in such a state. This was his best friend after all.  
Wasn't this what best friends were _supposed_ to do in times like this?

That had been then, and now here he was staring at this woman of pale rose-colored locks, and vibrant viridian in his door way. There's a touch of _shy_ to her—maybe something closer to _nervousness_ —as she darts her eyes to look anywhere but his own. The dusty pink upon her cheeks leads him to believe maybe it's not nervousness. Perhaps it's something closer to _embarrassment_.

There is a shake to her voice as she stares at the ground before wetting her bottom lip with her tongue, "Excuse me—you're Naruto's friend. . .Uchiha-san?"

"I am. Come in." he makes a motion of his hand stepping aside—his mother would never let him here the end of it if he left a girl in the cold.

She's soft in her steps and there's only the slightest hesitation before she's entering the two bedroom apartment. There's the realization that at no point had his blonde friend given him the idea she was a woman. There's the realization that at no point had he asked his friend for more information on who he was letting live within his home.

This is just one of the many mistakes he thinks he's made within this short span of nine hours. Women were trouble. This woman had to be trouble. There was nothing good that could come from this arrangement.

Those vibrant viridian still have yet to make their way to gaze within his own eyes as she stands within his kitchen fumbling with her fingers and attempting to hide her face within her forest green scarf. The drag of time comes and still neither makes the attempt to speak. He's leaned himself against his kitchen counter, and there's the deep inhale he takes as he crosses his arms against his chest digesting her. She's small—how old was this woman even? She was at least over the age of twenty-one, right?

The more he thinks of these things the more he's seeing he's made a grave error in agreeing to let a stranger within his ho—

"My name is Sakura Haruno—I'm twenty-three, and am going to school for nursing. I work at a small coffee shop near the university. Thank you for welcoming me into your home. I apologize for the intrusion." she's rushed in her introduction as her fingers squeeze within each other as if to give her the push she needed to finally speak within the silence.

"Ah—Sasuke Uchiha. Twenty-seven. Graduated." his voice is gruff in response at the awkwardness of this whole situation.

Fingers come up to push a few strands of rose-colored hair behind her ear, "It's a pleasure to meet you—Naruto talks of you often."

This woman was— _annoying_. She radiated within the nervousness that washed from her being in waves. She was far to demure to be Naruto's friend. There's no way he would be able to handle a woman this meek. There's no doubt that this woman is absolute trou—

"Sorry—I just wasn't expecting you to be so. . . _pretty_?" those viridian are finally coming to meet with his own obsidian.

He's choked upon his tongue at what she has called him—did she just called him _pretty_ of all things? This was a joke right? It had to be a joke. He wouldn't accept it as anything other than a joke.

"Excuse me?"

"Oi—Sakura-chan! I've brought your stuff over." there's a whip of their heads to the voice from down the hall leading to the entrance.

"Ah! Naruto!"

She's no longer soft steps and hesitation. She's no longer meek, and no longer demure. She's no longer radiating in nervousness, and she's no longer shy. She's all smiles and giggles in addressing the blonde that was their mutual friend. There's the drag of his fingers within his hair of obsidian, and it's only moments later he's pushing off the counter and headed for the call of the blonde, who had just waltz right in his front door.

He's quick to slip within his shoes and grab his winter coat from the rack at the door. She's right behind him as they head out to the car. There's an odd air as they're bringing in her things. It's obvious the two know each other well. It's obvious they're close. He's questioning if his friend has a crush upon this woman of rose-colored locks. There isn't much to her 'stuff' as Naruto had called it. Four boxes hardly equated much in the way of possessions.

It's as he's carrying the fourth box in and setting it within the unused guest room that he finally notes that which would have caused her to be on the _verge of eviction_. He had promised Naruto to give this woman a place to live. He had promised a place for her to go with eviction over her head. He had not promised this though. He had not promised anything concerning possible other guests within his home. He had not promised anything concerning an animal. He had not agreed to having a _cat_.

He regretted saying yes. Now he's absolutely not agreeing to these conditions. No one had spoken a word of that which sits within the small animal carrier.

"Naruto!" he's hissing out as he's leaning out of the door way, "What is _that_!?"

The blonde is decorated with a raised brow, and the look of confusion, "What's _what_?"

He's solid in his stride to the blonde completely ignoring the woman of pale rose-colored strands who's own face is decorated in wide doe-eyes, "You said nothing— _absolutely nothing_ about a cat."

"It's a cat, Sasuke." he's no longer decorated in confusion, and instead staring at him with the plainest of expressions.

"You said nothing. I agreed for _her_ to stay— _not a cat_." he's pointing at the mostly forgotten woman who's eyes only continue to dart between the two before taking a step between them.

"I'm sorry I should have said something earlier. She's actually really well behaved! I promise!" she's got her hands up as if to calm him, and that only serves to annoy him further.

"Naruto." his voice is tight as his eyes shift to her vibrant viridian, and back to the bright blues.

"You're no really having an issue of a small cat—are you?"

"Listen if it's an issue I'm sure I can figure somewhere e—"

"Just. Stop." he's hissing out as he brings his finger's up to pinch his nose, "Just— _fine_. I'm not doing this right now. I've got work soon, and I need to finish catching up on my sleep. It better be as good as you say it is. Lock up when you leave Naruto." he's turning and heading passed her room not catching the looks that are shared between the two he's no longer willing to deal with.

Naruto's right. It's a small cat. It's not as if it's the end of the world. She won't be staying with him for long as it is. It's annoying though—annoying that his best friend had neglected to tell him so many of the finer details, and even more annoying that he had neglected to ask for such details.

He's has far to little in the ways of time to deal with this now. It's something he can revisit later when he's rested and has his next day off. He can deal with her later. There's no point in him being aggravated right this minute. There is no point, and yet it's got his mind reeling that he has a roommate in the span of literal hours. He's trying to remember if there was ever a time when Naruto had ever mentioned the girl before now. He's trying to understand what exactly he had caved and agreed too without thinking all of these things through.

The clock ticking faster than he expects, and it's not long before he's up, and getting ready for work. There's been no noise since he had retreated within his room. At least this woman was quiet—that's a silver lining if there ever was one.

He's got his apron tied around his waist well before he's finished buttoning up his shirt, and it's as he's walking out to pass the guest room's door that he finds himself hesitating. There's a wonder if she's still up at ten at night. Finger's curl upon the doorknob with the gentlest of pressure so as not to wake her. The light within the room is still on and yet she's deep within the comfort of the guest room's bed. There's movement, and then there's her cat laying beside her upon the bed. The small rise and fall of her chest is the only true indication that she's even truly asleep.

She's removed nothing from her boxes. He wonders if he's offended her, and that's got him running a hand through his obsidian strands. Maybe he had been too annoyed. Maybe he had been to harsh within the afternoon after learning of her feline friend.

He's quiet in flicking of the light before making his way through the house.

He's managed to leave without making a noise, and work's not as bad as he would have thought. Serving at the local and expensive bar is what he's grown accustom to within his late nights, and while the lack of sleep is thick upon him there's no doubt within his mind that he's making decent money. The job required patience with those that drank one and then two drinks—the number forever increasing before he'd have to cut them off. There's little doubt that his looks have always been part of the reason he makes as much as he does. Women held no restraint in throwing money down upon the table. He can't help the snort the falls that falls from him as he thinks of the rose-colored woman's comment of him being _pretty_.

The sun's making its way up as he makes his way home within the snow. It's some time passed five he's sure as he enters the apartment. The lights are on and that has him raising an eyebrow as he places his coat upon the rack with practiced movements.

His steps are light as he's walking down the hall, and there she is sitting at the small kitchen table with a mug in hand. Those vibrant viridian are all wide, and all doe-eyed as she looks at him. The purring of the animal upon her lap is barely noted. The long sleeved night shirt of navy blue and light gray sleeping shorts look big on her. The silence between them is there, and so is that slow drag of time that seems to come with them. They're strangers. He doesn't know her. She doesn't know him.

"I couldn't sleep." she's whispering shifting her eyes from him as she sips from the mug, "Want some tea?"

There's a shift of his weight from one leg to another before giving way to a hum of an answer that has her bringing her viridian back to him. She's a woman of odd hereditary makeup. She's trouble, no doubt, but she's probably feeling just as awkward as what he does within their abrupt little first meeting.

She's placing her mug down and then patting the cat before it removes itself from her lap. He can't help but follow her within his kitchen as she starts to pull another mug from his cabinet of glasses. She's looked around enough to know where the things she seeks are—Naruto had more than likely walked her through as he hid within his home.

There's the smallest hum coming from her as he takes his place in leaning next to her against the counter. There's that habitual need to cross his arms as he waits, and he can't help but stare at her as she's making him a cup of tea bobbing the tea bag within the warm water she had poured from the tea kettle on the stove.

"I promise I'll be out soon. I'll be looking at apartments today." she's got the softest of smiles on her face as she speaks removing the tea bag from the mug and making way to throw it within the trash.

Maybe he had been too annoyed—no he definitely had been to annoyed to make her feel so unwelcome. Maybe he had been to harsh within the afternoon after learning of her feline friend—no he had definitely overreacted to the small animal that appeared to be was behaved. Maybe he was making a lot of judgments upon her far to fast—no he definitely had already marked her as an issue when she truly had done nothing to warrant it.

Obsidian can't stop their follow of her fingers as she brings the mug to her lips blowing softly upon it. She's small, and gentle in all of her movements right in this moment. She's got a warmth he feels like he could adjust too even if it would mean practicing a lot of patience.

She's extending the cup to him with that same soft smile, and it's now that he's choosing to respond, "Take your time." he's not sure why he's said it so soft—maybe he's the one feeling a touch of shy around her now, "I'd rather you not just jump into a random place."

Her lids fall and her smile is growing as he takes the cup from her. It's far from the smile she had given his blonde best friend but it's a step. She doesn't need to make hasty decisions. He would do her best to make her feel welcome in the time that she was under his roof.

"What's her name?" he's humming out between sips as she goes to retrieve her own cup and take her place beside him.

"Dorie." she's giggling cradling her cup within both hands.

"Ah." there's the smallest touch of a grin upon his lips as he breathes in the aroma coming from the tea.

She's has a touch of soft steps and hesitation. She's lingering within her meekness, and that demureness has found it's way back as she leans next to him. She's no longer radiating in nervousness, but she's definitely holding a hint of shy upon her cheeks dusted in pink. She's wide smiles, and giggles as she chats within whispers to him.

They're strangers, but now they're roommates.  
She's absolutely trouble, and he's not exactly the best at dealing with people he doesn't know.

He's not sure what had possessed him to agree to let a stranger into his home— _let alone live with him_.  
He's not complaining though if she's giving him _smiles_ like that.


	12. The Bonnie to His Clyde

Title: The Bonnie to His Clyde  
Prompt: Sakura stopped shoving clothes and envelopes of cash in a duffel bag when he slipped into her room through the open window. She jumped from her bed and wrapped her arms tightly around him. "I thought you wouldn't make it," she mumbled through his shirt. She closed her eyes and breathed him in. He smelled of expensive perfume and cigarette smoke. "How'd you get away?"  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr  
Note: I lowkey struggled with how to set this up no lie, but then I said fuck it and threw on You Reposted in the Wrong Neighborhood and just went with it.

* * *

There's no going back from here on out. There's urgency, and there's the need to move like never before. They were doing this—her friend's and family be damned. They're not backing down in these moments. She was messing with the wrong kind of people, and she likes it. The thrill is throughout her, and what fear there should be hasn't truly hit home. There's nothing she wants more in these moments. When he had told her of his intentions, and what he was planning there had only been the hint of hesitation before she was in.

They would run, and they would never look back. It would be him and her, and god knows who would come for them. That's all apart of the thrill, and it's all apart of the game they were playing. She would be the Bonnie to his Clyde. She would be the partner to his crime, and it only serves to make her flush in anticipation. The clothes she yanks from the hangers sends them hitting against those already bare, and it's only after she's stuffed the clothes with little care within the duffle bag that her fingers are reaching for the money she had been entrusted with.

If you had told her in her younger years she'd be an accessory to a crime she would have snorted and laughed in your face—that was then, and this is now, and now she's yanking the envelopes of cash from the sack she had hid under her bed and shoving them within the same duffle bag she's filled with clothes. Heart beat fast and hammering her eyes graze the clock before continuing her quick movements to shove the envelopes of cash within the bag. He should have lost them by now. He should be here. There's panic that perhaps he hadn't managed to ditch those they had robbed.

A noise catches her.  
She's whipping her head around.  
The fear is there.  
—and then there is the relief at seeing obsidian strands, and equally obsidian eyes.

He's slipped within her window, and there's no stopping her affection in these moments. Fingers wrap themselves within those obsidian strands as her arms come around his neck. The hold upon him is tight but calming as his finger's come to wrap within her own pale pink locks.

"I thought you wouldn't make it." her voice carries all of the worry she had felt as she presses her face into his shirt inhaling the expensive perfume, and cigarette smoke that lingered upon him, "How'd you get away?"

There's the briefest feel of his lips pressed against the side of her face as they come to whisper within her ear, "We can talk about it when we're safe."

That's all she needs to hear to separate herself from him and finish that in which he had instructed well before they had gone through with his plan. They're not stealing from good hard working people. They're stealing from crooks and giving them a taste of their own medicine. Fingers grab hold of the black hoodie to slide over her head. Her hair is a mess within the twisted and rushed actions, and she can hear him zipping up the duffle bag.

His job was a dangerous one, and he's just as dangerous as the job he takes, but she had accepted that long ago—there's not a single ounce of regret in her.

His finger's have grabbed her own and he's pulling her through the window holding the bag she's prepared. The fire escape is loud with their steps has they charge down them. The haste in all of his action's only make her want to move faster. They're breathing hard and there's a startle at him releasing her hand and jumping from the ledge instead of taking the ladder. The bag only slides down his shoulder briefly as he reaches out to her. There's only a second before she moves. She just moves because she trusts this man.

He's caught her and his fingers have grabbed her hand just as fast as he's placed her feet down upon the ground below and they're running. It's exciting—exhilarating. Never had she thought there would be such things with what they were doing. There had been second guesses and then they had set his plan into motion. It had cleansed her of second guesses, and it was then that she had chosen to never second guess this man.

His hand around her own is all she needs. They could be on the run for the rest of their lives and as long as his hand held her own like this she would never need to second guess anything.

They're rounding the building and headed down an alleyway. Her heart is hammering once more within her chest, and it rings within her ears. Lungs burn as they turn another corner and there's the smallest scolding within her head that she needs to work out more as they run down yet another alleyway. He's halting them at the car parked within the narrow alley yanking her into him with his abrupt movements.

There's a toss of the bag within the back seat.  
She's taking the driver seat.  
He's taking the passenger seat.

The key's in the ignition.  
The car is roaring within the turn of the key.  
—and he's twisting within the seat to pull the gun his hip.

It's not long into their drive down the main street and the slide of her fingers on the wheel as she makes a turn heading for closest entrance to the highway. His eyes are watching the mirrors and he's pushing himself up from the center console to look out the rear window. There's an exhale from him and it only makes her realize she had stopped breathing within those moments.

It all seems to good to be true. They're not being followed, and they're hitting the entrance to merge onto the highway when her heart stops.

That noise, and that sound. It made her heart halt within it's rhythm.

The hole within the window is all she needs to turn pale and become a deer in the headlights. He's gripping her hand and giving a squeeze as a curse falls from his lips. The gruff air that leaves him comes not even a moment later removing his hand from hers to send the window down and out of his way.

"Keep it steady and don't slow down."

Her hearts come back to life at his voice and it only makes her slam her foot down to increase the speed they obviously need. He's leaning out the window and the shots fired make her heart pound within her ears. Those second guesses are still completely non-existent. It didn't matter what hell she had to travel through. As long as he kept holding her hand through it all she'd be fine.

The chase has her making hasty decisions. Everything about this whole situation has been hasty. She's the Bonnie to his Clyde though, and that only serves to make her believe that it'll be fine. They'll be fine. He's not outrunning these people without her. He's right in this seat next to her sending return fire. There was no doubt this was a possibility. She's seen enough movies, and she's seen enough television to know this is always how it works out.

Biting down upon her lip has her glaring out as she maneuvers through the cars not allowing them to slow down her pace. The tunnel will prove to be an issue but not if she makes her way in front of some of these cars. The distance is key and she's not backing down from this challenge.

Those that chase them are persistent and it's only after they're far—far farther than she's ever been and they've made it too the meeting point—that she gets a chance to gaze at who had given him such a job. The man radiates in danger, and it only makes her shiver as she keeps herself behind him. The meeting is entirely business. There's the feel of this man's eyes seeking her out, and amusement within his voice.

The Clyde to her Bonnie finds no amusement in any of it though. It rings in his voice laced with warning. The exchange is quick and the swap out vehicle's keys are given. She doesn't have to drive this time. He's deemed it safe, and if he thinks it's safe then it undoubtedly must be. His hand holds hers as they drive. They don't need words. They don't need idle chatter as they head even further than this.

The shady hotel is on the outskirts of a town she's never even heard of. The click of the door is all that it takes—she cannot contain that thrill that is pulsing through her veins in waves that she lets out a throaty laugh.

The bed is horrible, and this room is the dingiest thing she's ever stepped foot into. Who is she to complain though after what they've done, and been through? It's only moments after she's let out the throaty laugh and he's pulled the hood from her head that his arms wrap around her neck from behind. That warm breath that comes from her warms her, and the hold he has is all she needs.

The whispers he gives way to flush her cheeks and send her heart beat racing for a whole different reason. He's apologizing for endangering her in something this dangerous. He's praising her for her part in this whole thing. It's tender, and it's as if he too had felt the same thrill laced in worry. There's no missing the deep inhale he takes—her fingers come to rest upon his arm wrapped around her.

"Sasuke-kun." she's soft within her whisper.

This male so dangerous, and so obsidian doesn't respond. He only instead slides his fingers from her shoulder to bring her face to his. The pressure of his mouth to hers is welcomed. It's affectionate, but not filled with softness. It's warm, but it's not racy. It's entirely genuine.

They're forehead to forehead, and she can't help but take in that still lingering expensive perfume, and cigarette smoke that hangs upon his clothes. The in hale she is one of calm as they look to each other.

"Sakura." the grin that hints upon the corner's of his mouth only serves to send soft giggles from her within this little moment between them.

Fingers find their way into his own and give way to a gentle squeeze.

They would run, and they would never look back. It would be him and her. They could be on the run for the rest of their lives. As long as his hand held hers though she would never second guess anything.

He's the Clyde to her Bonnie, and she's the Bonnie to his Clyde.  
— _and she doesn't regret anything about it_.


	13. Someone Else

Title: Someone Else  
Prompt:SasuSaku AU with a jealous Sasuke please  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr  
Note: I absolutely love this College AU set I've done. There hasn't been one I've felt disappointed with, and they are so much fun.

Continuation of _Ten Shades of Red_ , and _Definitely_

* * *

The cafe they've come to visit every week on Wednesday's after his Principle of Macroecomonics course is quiet, and calm with only the sound of quiet whispers filling the air. There's no missing her soft giggles she tries to hold back with pressed lips as her pale green look over her phone. He can't see what she's reading but it's sparking a hint of curiosity throughout him.

She's been distracted within the recent weeks. They're still doing their Friday study sessions in the library. They're still hanging out when their schedules allow. They're still not _together_ , and they're still not _separate_.

That distraction is present though—it's in the little things she does. It's in the way she waits for him outside of his class with eyes glued to her screen. It's in the giggles she's spilling without an explanation as they're grabbing a bite to eat. It's within her pale green eyes as she walks from her dorm to his car. It's in corners of her lips as her face beams down at her phone. It's all minor and all little—and almost annoying.

Fingers reach down to cradle his choice of latte macchiato as his obsidian eye her from across the small table she had picked. She's as cute as she always is in her three quarter length sleeved marble sweater, light gray infinite scarf, and black shorts with lace patterns at the end—there's never a point when he hasn't thought she's cute. There's another giggle that slips passed her lips and fingers typing away as he brings the macchiato to his lips taking the warm liquid in. She's not chatting with him but she's very much chatting away with _someone else_.

There's a clearing of his throat after the liquid has slid down warming his insides to gain her attention. The action has done what he's hoped and brought those pale green upon him and away from her phone. That dusty pink that paints across her cheeks is the very one he enjoys and the very one that brings the hint of a smirk across his own.

Her voice is soft as she sets her phone down and cradles her mocha within her fingers—she likes two extra shots of chocolate in hers, "Sorry. . . have you picked your topic for your economics paper?"

"Ah, I'm doing it on the economic consequences with the increase in endangered biodiversity." he answers with a hum upon his voice.

She sips upon her cup before giving way to her own hum, "I'll be curious to see how you present that." there's humor upon her lips.

"Are you questioning if I can—" he's interrupted by the sound of her phone making his eyes gaze upon the screen momentarily forgetting his teasing question.

There's a name, and there's a message. There's only one, and then there's two. Two becomes three and it's on that third that she's swiping her phone open. There's no missing the messaging screen, and there's no missing words those small fingers of hers tapping away at a reply he cannot understand. The language is foreign and that's what makes him raise a brow.

This woman knew a foreign language. _Someone else_ was gaining her attention once again. That hint of curiosity is back, and it's at another sound of her phone, and what looks to be the loading of a picture that her hand comes down across the screen shielding it from his gaze. There's an odd feeling that follows and now he feels as though he's done something wrong in letting his eyes peak at her messages. Obsidian seek to look anywhere but her own and thick swallow follows it.

That curiosity is back and it's wishing to know what picture was sent her way.  
That curiosity holds wonder if who she speaks with is a male.

Fingers curl upon his cup with something close to annoyance. They're not together, but they're not separate. She's not his girlfriend, but she was his girl friend. She's dusted in that pink he enjoys, but he's not the reason she's dusted in that pink.

"Why don't we head to your place? You said you bought a new book you were enjoying right?" her voice is hesitant and holds that touch of shy he likes on her, but isn't one he's caused her.

He gives a noise of a response agreeing within his rise from the table. His fingers grip the bill of his washed out blue baseball cap turning it backwards upon his head, and she's close within his personal space not even moments later clicking the buttons of his baseball jacket of light gray and dimmed black.

She's chatting with _someone else_ —but she's standing here in front of him. She's chatting with _someone else_ —but he's the one walking behind her to his car. _Someone else_ wasn't trailing their eyes up her form—those black ankle boots, and legs covered in opaque black tights. _Someone else_ wasn't opening the door for her—they weren't receiving those infamous soft thank yous as she sat in the passenger seat.

The drive gives way to her small chatter as she comments on the little things she thinks of. Her fingers play with those rose-colored strands that have grown passed her shoulders. There's giggles as he hums, and makes a sarcastic remark to something ridiculous she's said. He thinks he's heard her phone as he turns a corner, but she's made no motion to grab it. He thinks he's misheard it.

He's overthinking this. He knows he's overthinking it. He doesn't even know what exactly he's overthinking. He's got that hint of annoyance from something that doesn't even matter. They're _definitely_ not together—he scolds himself. They're _definitely_ not separate—he reminds himself.

Her steps are light behind him as they enter his apartment building. She's become acquainted with this apartment building well before now. She's spent time watching movies with him, and not _someone else_. She's spent time reading books as he wrote papers instead of spending time with _someone else_. She's spent the night adorned in one of his shirts—she's not wearing _someone else's_ shirt.

There's that scold that it doesn't mean she's his. There's that reminder that it doesn't mean she isn't his. She takes her scarf off laying it upon the bed as she sits upon his bed looking as his fingers trail upon his shelf to grab the new book she had mentioned. The noise of her phone goes off and he knows here and now he hasn't misheard the noise. There's a halt in his pull and then there's the slow move of his head to look at her. Those pale green are no longer on him they're on the screen of her phone. There's the softest of looks upon her face, and then decorates to almost childish amusement.

There's a tightening of his fingers upon the spine as he pulls it down and a thick swallow to follow it. It's almost annoying watching those changes in her face. It's almost annoying watching her fingers click away at the screen's keyboard as she replies to someone _else_. It's almost annoying how she looks up at him with those wide pale green eyes as he holds the book in front of her phone. There's a moment of quiet. She's not speaking and neither is she. There's one second, and then there's two. Three comes and he can see the tightening of her jaw as she swallows. Four isn't far behind as her cheeks dust three shades darker in that dusty pink he enjoys.

Small fingers grip the book and take it in hand as he makes his way over to his desk. She'll be reading for a while and he knows she'll fill the air with her comments as he works away at his economics paper. There's the removal of his hat and the removal of his jacket. There's the grab of his reading glasses and the slide of them upon his face. There's a hum from her in the air and a smirk playing upon his lips. Obsidian can't stop their flicker to her between flips of pages, and clicks of his keyboard.

She's far too cute for a woman over twenty. She's far too cute with her lips pursed up and her rose-colored locks spilled across his pillow. She's far too cute but she's so many other things.

He's lost within his research, and he's missed the first noise from her phone. There's another noise, and he's missed that one too. The third and the fourth are in the room but he's too busy to catch them within his typing. It's that fifth, and the sixth though that he starts to hear. It's the seventh and the eighth that make him stop mid sentence within his paper. It's the ninth and the tenth that make his eyes go to her. She's fallen asleep with his book pressed to her chest. The phone that continued it's noise and buzz sits beside her lit coaxing his eyes. It's only a moment—a second if he's really being honest before he's sliding out of his chair and leaning over the bed.

She's far too cute for a woman over twenty. She's far too cute with her mouth parted slightly, and her fingers curled beside her head. She's far too cute but she's so many things. It's that eleventh noise in the air that makes him turn his attention to the object.

The messages are listed, and they're still as unreadable as the ones that he had caught within their favorite cafe. They're still in a language foreign to him that her and this _someone else_ share. There's the listing that three of them are picture messages, and there's the desire to know what this _someone else_ felt they needed to share with her.

That odd feeling is washing over him again as he peaks upon her phone. He knows it's none of his business. He knows this is an invasion of privacy. He knows he shouldn't be this curious. He knows he's overthinking it. They're _definitely_ not together—he scolds himself once more. They're _definitely_ not separate—he reminds himself once more.

Fingers grip her shoulder softly giving the smallest of shakes to bring her from sleep. There's a noise far to cute laced in sleep, and there's the twitch of her fingers as she brings them to rub the sleep from her eyes. The yawn she gives is soft and small and she settles to sit up and clutch the book to her chest in her movements.

"I'll get you a shirt." there's a smirk upon his lips unable to hide in his response as he turns from her to take one from his closet.

"I'm sleeping over?" her voice is soaked in her sleepiness.

"Ah, you are." he holds the smallest humor as he answers.

He's quick to hand over the wide collared t-shirt of royal blue, and grab his own set of sweats and t-shirt of muted red before heading out the door to get changed and give her the privacy she should have—he's already crossed enough of those lines today.

The noises from the kitchen are enough to make him wander in and see her bent with her elbows upon the counter. There's that feeling that's almost annoyance in seeing her giggling as she types away dressed within the shirt that gives him the smallest peek at her panties of pale green. He doesn't understand why it's creeping upon him in these moments. He wants to believe it's a build up of her constant distraction within the little things leading up to this moment. He wants to believe that it's not something more than _curiosity_ , and he wants to believe that it's not as _possessive_ as it feels.

He wants to believe these things and yet here he is pinning her to the counter as he looks over her shoulder. His breath is caressing her ear as he eyes the phone within her hands, "Sakura—who has you so distracted?"

She's shifted against him and those rose-colored strands tickle against his cheek as she looks to him, "Ah—Well. Sasuke-kun." there's hesitance as she responds and then there's that dusty pink he absolutely enjoys upon her cheeks, "It's nothing—really nothing important."

"Nothing important and yet it has you distracted." he breathes out as the inhale of her vanilla scent fills his nose.

"Ah—well—you see. . .it's just this friend." she's whispering within their close contact with her pale green watching his face decorated in something she wasn't expecting—what she sees he's not sure as he's far to interested in the foreign writing upon her screen.

"This friend speaks a different language?" his fingers tighten upon the edge of the counter, "What does _he_ have to talk about so much?"

"He?" she's pouting within her response, "He's a _she_?"

That is what makes him look from the phone to her with brows pinched in confusion as he lets out his habitual noise response. There's a blink and then there's another, "Ah, yes, Sasuke-kun—This is my friend from Germany."

The blush across her cheeks is deepening as she shifts her weight between her legs. He cannot stop the heat upon his own cheeks, "Ah?" the hum is rough as he swallows now realizing how close he's put himself to her.

"Yes—we're discussing—we're, uh, discussing this series we both like. Here where it says, 'Die zwei waren in dem Moment so süß!', she has said, 'Wasn't that moment between them the cutest?', and—uh, here where it says, 'Ich bin so rot geworden' I wrote, 'I blushed so hard.'"

"Ah—I—yeah." a set of his fingers leave the counter as they cover his mouth refusing to look at her with the embarrassment he feels hot upon his face.

Removing himself from her is his first mission, and second is putting some distance between them as he heads for the fridge. He can feel her eyes dancing upon him as he keeps himself within the fridge hoping it will cool the heat that lingers on his cheeks. There's a forced swallow as he finally comes out from this sad excuse of a hiding spot bringing the ice tea with him.

That aroma of vanilla is all he can breath in as she comes to stand beside him pulling glasses from the cabinet overhead. There's no words between them as he gets their drinks poured, and there's no words as they sip upon the ice tea in the awkward and lingering silence. He's caved and begun to look to her fleetingly, and then there's that dusty pink upon her cheeks that he enjoys so much that comes over her as she speaks, "Ready for bed?"

There's that moment of time between them before her feet have her standing in front of him, and a press of those lips of hers upon his cheek. There's no doubt she's embarrassed, and while the heat is back upon his own cheeks he cannot help but try to defuse it with a tease to her, "Sakura, what series were you talking about?"

There's a whip of her head and it's with that _ten shades of red_ painted upon her that he enjoys even more than that dusty pink that he feels himself recovering from what heat she's put upon his own, "What?"

There's the knowing that he's got her within his tease, and he only proceeds to press it further, "What series were you talking about?"

Pale green flutter away from him quickly seeking the tile floor of his kitchen, "It—well you see I—" her fingers curl within the hem of his shirt, "It's World's Greatest First Love."

There's a noise of curiosity that falls from him before she hastily speaks again, "It's not that great. Nothing you would like." it's an excuse—and a poor one at that in his books—but he's already achieved his goal of gaining that pretty shade of red she looks so good in.

It's him who's leaving her in the kitchen with the grin across his face now perfectly pale within their normal complexion, and then there's her feet coming from behind as she goes to follow him to the bedroom.

Her steps are light behind him as they head for the bed. She takes her established place beside the wall. He takes his established place on the other side. She hasn't lost those _ten shades of red_. He hasn't lost that smirk as they get underneath the comforter. She's more than acquainted with his queen size bed, and not _someone else's_. She's kissed his cheek twice now, and not _someone else_. She's had more than enough moments with him, and not _someone else_. She's spending the night in one of his shirts—she's not wearing _someone else's_ shirt tonight.

There's no use denying to himself the feeling he had believed to be something _almost like annoyance_. There's no use pretending he hadn't felt the sting of _possessive_ upon him. There's no use ignoring the _jealousy_ he had felt at her possibly distracted by another male.

They're _definitely_ not together—but she isn't _someone else's_ either. They're _definitely_ not separate—but she is kinda, sorta, possibly, maybe _his_.


	14. Perhaps

x . x . x  
Title: Perhaps  
Prompt: i meant for that snowball to hit my friend but you came around the corner at the last second and now we're having a snowball fight

* * *

The chilled air brings her nose to a red hue as she stands at the snow covered corner waiting for her best friend to make her grand appearance. The snow that falls is light and fluffy as it accumulates upon the ground beneath her. There's no missing the crunch it makes as she shuffles her knees backwards and forwards in an attempt to keep warm. The charcoal jacket with a hood lined in faux fur, extra large white sweater, white knit toboggan with the over-sized ball of fluff upon the top, and light gray scarf is a blessing, and yet there's the silent regret in her choice of black leather pants.

There's no use in crying over it now though. There was always a point in making herself presentable when she went shopping with the blonde. Ino always seemed to look phenomenal and while she never feels threatened there's that silent urge to put a little bit more care into herself when they go out in public. There's the pull of her phone from her pocket, and the quick look at the time before sliding it back within the jacket.

She could crash at a cafe, or maybe look within the bookstore down the street, but she's no fool—she knows the minute she'd wander away the blonde would arrive. That's always how it works, and she's not going to let it happen if she can help it.

The weeks of work, and constant need to catch up on sleep had separated them for too long and she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss her best friend. There was the texts between their last meet up and now, but it's not quite the same as being within the presence of the self-confident and outgoing blonde. Rubbing her fingers together she brings them to cover her nose and mouth letting out a puff of hot air to warm the chilled digits.

She's no fan of winter, but she can appreciate it's beauty. The best times were when she could curl upon her couch with a book in hand as the snow fell softly outside her window. They're few and in between with her hectic schedule, but she can still appreciate it none the less. Her phone buzzes within her pocket and she's gazing upon the text.

The best friend is close, and there's the desire to be childish in getting payback for having to wait. The few people who pass by pay her no mind as she squats down to dig her already chilled digits into the snow gathering what she can to prepare the snowball she intends to launch. The snow isn't too powdery, but it isn't too wet either. The grin that comes across her face is absolutely sinful, and hides little of her childish antics.

There's the press of her back against the brick wall and a peek out around the corner. She doesn't see her yet, and that just means she can continue packing what she's gathered. There's a moment and then a second, and then there's three before she feels the smash against her face. It's not painful—but it's entirely chilling, and entirely wet.

The whip of her head comes and then there goes the blonde in her pale blue jacket, and patterned sweater tights. The shock has washed off her features, and the grin is spreading wide once again feeling the challenge presented by the blonde. They're twenty-six but that doesn't mean they've outgrown such childish play. She's sliding around the corner with her arm stretched back. There's the release of the snow from her hand that she had prepared—and then there's the direct hit.

Except it didn't hit her friend.  
 _It hit a complete stranger.  
_  
It hit a boy of ebony locks that curl within the back, and hang upon the sides of his face.  
It hit a boy with wide eyes and slightly parted jaw right in his chest.

Fingers fly up to her mouth with a gasp escaping her lips. It hadn't been to long, a second or maybe two if she's really counting, since she had been peeking around this corner that one or two had walked upon. There's no way she can wash off the wide doe-eyed look upon her face. There's the absolute raw laughter begging to escape from the base of her throat—a snort falls muffled within her hands. She can only beg herself to maintain composure, and remind herself to apologize quickly. There's no missing the blonde's open snort within the air and high pitched snicker with her own failed attempt to suppress her laughter.

"Ah! I'm sorr—"

 _She never saw it coming_ —

She had foreseen his anger. She had foreseen him screaming at her. She had foreseen him ridiculing her for her childish antics, and bad aim. She had even considered the idea that he would call her a nasty name or too.

What she hadn't foreseen was him brushing the snow off, reaching down grabbing snow within his fingers, the draw back of his arm—and the lunge of the snow that would proceed to fly and hit her in the face. The motion had been far quicker than expected. The act had been swift without a second of hesitation.

It's as if she missed it within a blink— _maybe four if she's honest_.

She's not one to back down though and she's back to grabbing more snow within her hands and he's following her lead with the drop of his messenger bag. The snicker that had been within the base of her throat is falling from her lips unable to be contained, and there's the smallest of chuckles that fall from his own with a the cockiest smirk across his lips. The high pitched squeals of her best friend is within the air as she watches her attempt to dodge the on coming snowball, and the launch of her own.

The snickers are turning to outright laughter, and he's letting out the most ridiculous snort as he hits her arm, and he hits her stomach. They're absolutely disrupting the public, but this is fun and she has no intention of stopping. A Snowball hits her shoulder, and she's hit him within the chest before he's coming at low to the ground with fingers scrapping up what snow he can.

The squeal that now falls from her has her retreating back around the corner and there's the hit upon her back as she reaches to grab more snow. She hasn't even made it up from her kneeling position before she's throwing back behind her and he's rubbing snow upon her head. The newest squeak that falls from her is high pitched and loud followed by more laughter, and the yell of her best friend.

"Hey that's cheating!" she's snickering as she turns around to plant snow upon his muted blue jacket.

"Says the one throwing snow to begin with." he's giving another throaty snort in his reply.

"I'm sorry! It was aimed at my friend, I swear!" she laughs as she backs away throwing another ball of the fluffy white his way.

There's a noise of a response from him as he's bending down to gather more taking the hit—and jesus is the amount far larger than it had been within his previous snowballs.

"Come on you kids!" Ino has called out shaking her head with the widest of smiles—the bag he had dropped within their game hands across her chest.

They're ignoring her though for the launch of more snow at each other. She's missed him and hit Ino making it two against one, and they're dodging through the people who tell them to stop. They're not stopping this is fun, and so much more exciting than it should be.

She hasn't had this kind of thrill in a while, and it's only after she slips within the snow and lands flat on her butt that she is nailed once more within her face.

" _I give_! I give!" she's squeaking as she wipes the snow from her face out of breath.

There's that noise of a response and an under handed toss of the last bit of snow he'd gathered to land right on her leg. Her blonde best friend is not far behind— _that's what she gets for wearing heeled boots_.

The sound of snow crunching beneath his feet makes her pale green slide up his form that stands before her. She's not sure why she's just now digesting this boy she had been throwing snow at, but there's no denying his handsome features. He's dressed for the weather— _far better_ then her—with his muted blue jacket zipped all the way up to his throat, washed out jeans, and light brown boots. Her lips can only part within her curiosity as he bends down and extends his hand towards her.

The absolutely frigid digits remove themselves from the snow and take his own equally frosted hand. He pulls her up with little to no effort making her rock upon her heel. She's rubbing her fingers together to stimulate some warmth.

"Sorry for hitting you." she's sheepish within her apology.

"Ah, so you say." he raises an eyebrow as he stuffs his hands within his coat.

There's the strangest tension between them as his eyes stay upon her fixing her hair and brushing the snow from her coat. She's not sure what you would call this tension. It's not suffocating, and it's not overwhelming in a bad way. There's the hope that this male thinks the red hue upon her cheeks is from the cold. It's the voice of the blonde that finally cuts through this unknown tension, and her stops coming to stand beside them.

"Sorry for getting you caught in the cross fire." there's no denying the humor that's laced within the blonde's words as she removes his bag and holds it out.

He's brushing the snow from his arm, and quick to pat it from his own pants before accepting his bag back and placing it back upon his own person, "It's whatever."

There's the oddest of looks from her blonde—there's a raise of her blonde brows and the shift of her eyes upon her green, and their flick towards the male.

He says nothing stuffing his hands back within the warmth of his jacket and a nod in their direction before turning to leave and get back upon his way. There's no missing the puff of the blonde's cheek and the far to strong of a nudge against her shoulder— _oh, there's no missing the blonde's efforts_.

"Go ask him for his number." she's whispering out.

"Ino, I don't even know him." the pout upon her face and the dip of her brows comes, "Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, please, you just had a snowball fight with the guy. _Go_!" she gives way to a snort not taking the excuse given.

The smallest groan leaves her knowing she'd never hear the end of it. There's possible rejection, but even so the chances of ever running into this guy again is slim—that's what she tells herself at least as she throws her hand up with a yell.

He's turning with his lips pressed firm, and his eyebrows raised, and there's the absolute need to bury her head within the snow as her nerves begin to make themselves known. The deep inhale she takes in is done in hopes of settling such nerves. Her jog is steady and that wonderful crunch beneath her feet makes her hope he can't hear how hard her heart is beating.

"Ah, well, you see—I" she's mumbling in front of him gazing at his chest—there's too much fear in seeing his expression in this tension that's made it's way between them once more, "Well. I—I was wondering if maybe I could. . . ask for. . ." she's resorted to speaking softly feeling every shy fiber of her being rearing its head, "—your _number_?"

He shifts his weight from one leg to another, and it's only now that she dares to look up and see what expression is across his face. He's no longer firm pressed lips, and raised eyebrows. It's the most lackadaisical expression she's ever seen and it only makes her want to flinch in what she can only assume is rejection. He looks absolutely _bored_ with her request.

"Sure." he says with his hand reaching within his jean pocket to pull out his phone.

There's a blink—five, or six if she's being honest—and then there's the stare she's giving as if she feels like she's heard him wrong. The silence between them is awkward, and it's making him raise one of his brows, and that same noise of a response he's exhibited within the snowball fight.

"Ah! Right—sorry!" she's reaching within her jacket's pocket pulling her own phone out, "I'm Sakura Haruno."

He's taking her phone and clicking away upon his phone's screen, "Sasuke Uchiha."

It only takes moments before he's handing her phone back, and his thumb still moves upon the keyboard of his phone. She's rocking back and forth upon her heel in the slowest movements and the blush across her face is deepening—there's no trying to feign this as being brought by the cold air.

His fingers stuff the phone back within his jean pocket, and it's partner has wrapped themselves around the strap of his bag. There's a buzz within her pocket, and she there's no doubt that it's from him. She's not sure if what's playing on the corner of his lips is amusement but she can only hope it is before his voice cuts through the never faltering tension, "Try not to hit anyone else with snowballs, Sa—ku—ra."

He's teasing within the pronunciation of her name before giving the smallest wave of his hand before he's leaving her there to stand within this snow that crunches. Arms wrap around her neck from behind and there's the humor laced voice of her best friend, "Look at you go!" she's snickering, "I didn't think you'd actually do it!"

Little does her blonde best friend seem to realize she hadn't realized she would actually go through with it either. There's the pull of her phone out of her pocket once more, and the swipe of her thumb across the notification for a text message. Ino rubs her cheek against her own as she seeks to peek upon the text.. There's the dart of her eyes between the words across the screen and his form that continues to increase the distance between them.

She hadn't foreseen so much of this interaction between them. She hadn't foreseen him actually giving his number, but then again she hadn't foreseen anything this man would do since the beginning. He's grabbed her interest, and evidently she's grabbed his.

She's no fan of winter— _but perhaps she had been hasty_.  
Perhaps she could become a fan of winter.


	15. Endlessness

x . x . x  
Title: Endlessness  
Prompt: It was time for him to wake up. She had endured so much for so long, without him. She looks at his pale, sleeping face that seemed at peace, for once. She tries to swallow the lump in her throat as fear builds up within her chest. She will do this even if it's ill-advised. The warnings of the (now dead) elders echo in her mind but the clamor downstairs was louder. They have come for him, for them. Nothing and no one could stop her. She was running out of time. It had to be done now. "Wake up now, my love," she whispered to him, almost like a prayer. "Come back to me." She bites her bottom lip with her fangs before kissing him, deeply. His lips felt like sandpaper on her own. It had been too long since she has kissed him. She pulls away and sees his once pale lips tainted with her blood. Was it enough? She grabs the knife and feels no pain as she glides it across her wrist. She props his head on her lap and places her bleeding wrist on his lips. Her free hand makes its way to where his heart is. "Wake up, Sasuke-kun, before it's too late." She knows that there will be consequences for waking him up centuries too early. But she wanted nothing more than to have him back.  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr  
Note: Not gonna lie I don't do the whole vampire thing. . . but when I fucking do it's absolutely based on Vampire Knight, and all of my goddamn Yume (Yuuki x Kaname) shipping. IREGRETNOTHING.

* * *

 _Endlessness_.

It's the span of time in which she stayed forever locked within. The lights of time had been washed away within this empty space. There was no forward, and there was no back. There is only the now in which she lived. Clocks forever left her in wait. The whispers to move forward, and the urgency behind the voice that gave such hushed tones had long since fallen on deaf ears. She had endured and she had accepted. She had longed for, and she had desired.

He had given his all, and he had done so without thought. She had walked among the path of humans, and he had resigned to finally take that from her.

 _Do you miss him_ — _Yes_.  
Every _second_. Every _minute_. Every _hour_. Every _day_. Every _year_.  
 _Every measurement of time_.

He had been far different from that of the sun. She had been far different from the moon. He had woke her up. He had held regret in awakening the pureblood that she had been. He echoed the _endlessness_. It lingered within his space. He had given in and allowed it to surround her space. It would not wash away, and it would not come and go. It was endless, and it was vast. She echoed within the _endlessness_.

That tick of the clock, and yet it mattered not. There's no rhythm and there's no beat. There's only the gravity of how long she would continue to look upon him within his sleep. There's no measurement of time in which she could use to explain that length of longing, and that length of craving.

It's a constant craving.  
 _Life may leave him_ —yet his _heart_ would remain.

The smile is soft as she sits upon the cool marble floor. The curl of her knees come within her wait and the wrapping of her arms around her legs. He's been there for a long time. She's looked over him for just long. _Obsidian in all its grace_ —there's such a pleasing smile upon her face at the thought.

How many years had it been since she had lost herself within this room?  
The hunger she had felt—it was _strong_ , and it was just as vast as that _endlessness_.  
That constant craving couldn't be _extinguished_. Only he had the taste she _desired_.

Even through the darkest of phases she had maintained be it through thick or thin. He was meant to keep her waiting for much longer—much, much, much longer. She had wished to give him the human path he had allowed her to once walk within. Other's had deemed them too _dangerous_ —and now she wouldn't be able to give all over herself to allow him to walk within the light as she had done.

The sigh that comes is soaked in longing with eyes that stay upon his laying form. Even in the now, and even within their inability to go forward or back here they stay disposed to stand within the test of time. There sounds from below are loud, and yet she does not move. There's only this constant craving, and this constant _endlessness_ in all its grace.

How many years had it been since he had resigned to remove her from the path of humans?

There had been regret across his face—he had always looked lonely and that was when she had known why. He had waited for her and he had watched her grow not able to tell her she was always one of them. He had desired to not bring her back, and then with no other choice he had woke her up.

 _He looked so unbelievably lonely back then_.

They were coming to get rid of him—they felt he hadn't given enough. The arms that wrapped around her legs unravel themselves. She's standing slowly as her fingers seek the comfort of curling within the high-waist black skirt. She would wake him up in this moment, this second, this minute. Those same whispers with hushed urgency are muffled within the air so deaf. The inhale is meant to calm her already frozen heart. The curl of her fingers within the skirt can only squeeze. Those whispers were long since dead—yet the echoed within this space. They are a warning. They are quake to her heart. They are upon deaf ears.

There's the overwhelming fear of awakening him when he is not ready. There is the fear in awakening him centuries far too early. The swallow is thick, and the fingers once curled within the black skirt are twisted within the palest of pink long sleeved blouses.

It had been the softest of smiles—and a poke to her forehead.  
 _It had been the softest thank you_.

That noise from below is louder than before—it silences the echos of those elders so long since dead who whispered such urgency within her head. There could be no more wait within this space. There could be no gaze upon his form within his sleep. There could be no constant craving. He's out of time, and now so is she as her footsteps are soft and click against the marble flooring. She's reaching out to him, and she's standing beside him. There's the _echo_ that drowns out _the dead_.

 _My Sasuke-kun is over there—I must go to him._

Pale and rose-colored strands slip upon her shoulder as she bends over hims form. Fingers curl within the strands that lay spilled around him.

 _It's time to wake up, my love_.

She's whispered it as if it would save him, and as if it would save her, "Come back to me, _please_." it's a prayer within her hushed tone—pleading and hoping within the vast _endlessness_.

Even if the future would never come she would _never_ lose her way.  
She would always go to _where_ he lay.

 _There's only loss of the gentle light she had wished would shine upon them as it had that day._

The crimson droplets that those lips seek—they're untouched within this time of wait. There is no pain in biting down upon her lip. There is no displeasure in pressing her own to his so rough, and so deeply. He had always been so pale. It had been so long since she had allowed herself this much. That constant craving. It drove her insane— _it drove her to devour him_.

 _Endlessness—_ in all its grace.

She's pulling away and that crimson upon lips so rough linger upon this obsidian in all his grace. There's a heaviness upon her chest. Had she given him enough? Would he need to devour more of her? _It drove her insane_ —did it drive him _insane_ even after all this time within this space?

There is the raise of his head within her fingers as she slides herself to sit upon where he lays. That weight comes upon her lap within her gentle placement of him within her lap covered by skirt so black. The decoration upon her face is soft—and holds such loneliness. Her wrist so small and delicate comes out within the pull of her sleeve to sit further down her arm. It rests between her lips, and the tear that comes from her teeth to her skin is purposely done and that crimson comes entirely intended. Pale and rose-colored strands dance upon his face caressing his closed lids as she brings her wrist to his lips.

Fingers seek to lay within his shirt so equally black. They seek the heart that had remained. She had not understood that look he had adorn within his _loneliness_ until she had let go of him. She had not known the world could be this lonely—but in that _darkest of spaces_ , and in that long wait within the vast _endlessness_ he had shown her how bright the world had looked. If she had never _fell in love_ , if she had never stood within this _tick of the clock_ , if she had never _spilled such tears_ , if she had not lost him within this _darkest of spaces_ , if she had been stuck forever unable to go forward or go back, and if she had never had to say _goodbye_ she would have never been able to feel so _alive_.

 _Wake up before it's too late, Sasuke-kun_.

There would be consequences. There would be punishment for waking him early. He was not meant to wake within this time—he was not meant to wake within this space. There is so much she wishes to share. There is so much within this empty space she wished to give.

 _Endlessness_.  
It's here to _stay_.  
It won't wash _away_.

 _Yes_ — _it's here to stay_.  
 _No_ — _it won't wash away_.

 _Obsidian in all it's grace_ are what come within this space. The lids open themselves so slowly within their movements—so painstakingly slow. The distorted glaze those obsidian hold cannot be missed. The feeling of a long lick grazing the wrist so small and delicate follows. The hand not moved within this unknown measurement of time slides within the strands so pale and rose-colored.

The softest of smiles comes—it's tender and warm. The loud noise outside the door cannot enter the air. He had been so different from the sun. She had been so different from the moon. That tick of the clock, and yet it mattered not. There's no rhythm and there's no beat. There's only them. There's only ever been them.

Even if the all the days they had shared had passed she would always remain in him— _he would always remain in her_ —because she had _met_ him.

" _I was so happy_." he whispers between them twisting his fingers within her hair.

That constant craving.  
It makes her want to latch upon his neck— _devour him whole_.

This is the way that they love.

Animalistic.

The noise is within the room. He's gone, and then he's there. He craves, and he's hungry. He's slept for so long and for so much time.

 _Do you miss him_ — _Yes_.  
Every _second_. Every _minute_. Every _hour_. Every _day_. Every _year_.  
 _Every measurement of time_.

Did he miss her—she loves him so unconditionally even in the darkest of spaces. She loves him where the dark coats the light. She loves him for every _second_ , every _minute_ , every _hour_ , every _day_ , and every _year_. She loves him for every measurement of time.

He's slaughtered most of the threat. He stands before those who remain. There's no doubt those eyes they _glow_. Rich and deep in red—not in obsidian in all its grace. They've paled at what he's done but not as pale as he is within the crimson that's painted him. It's stained the shirt still warm from her fingers. It's covered and caressed that pale skin she is _insane_ for. Those rich and deep in red have come to her as he looks over his shoulder.

That longing, and that desire. That craving and urgency to devour and consume. He's looking to her with all the things that she has looked to him with for all of this time. They are untouched by time. They are purebloods, and they are absolute— _those of power, and control_.

 _Why does it feel like you're saying goodbye?_

A hint upon his lips. A smirk just for her. A look only for her eyes. A moment for all of those they've lost. He's coming to her and he's bending down to wrap his fingers within her hair. His lips are still so rough, and the touch they share is still so deep.

She can no longer hold herself back. Her thirst is demanding, and it is calling for him. She would devour him. This was the way they loved, and he would give her ask she pleased.

Her attack upon his throat is merciless, and his fingers can only hold her close as she drinks him. There is no concern for those he had left alive, and left to watch. There is only them within this space. She had longed for him and he was here. She would be punished and she would accept it. She held no regret. He had been awoken, and he had craved her as much as she did him.

The world had disapproved of them. They had disapproved of his efforts, and what he had given. They had felt he had not given enough. They had come to them out of fear of their power. They had sought to harm them and tear him from her. Her world was only of him. His world was on her.

He had said he had been _happy_. He had been _so happy_.

 _They are endless in all of its grace_.


	16. Classic Mind, and So Fine

x . x . x  
Title: Classic Mind, and So Fine  
Prompt: fic in which sakura gets jealous of sasuke's female friend  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr  
Continuation of _Ten Shades of Red_ , _Definitely_ , and _Someone Else_

* * *

There's the flicker of her eyes to the wrist watch she always wears. There's the oddest of feelings in sitting within the fifth floor library. He's not here in all of his obsidian hair, and obsidian eyes. He's not here in his hats, and sweatpants. He's not here in the things she represents with him. There's no soul upon this fifth floor of the library building on a Friday night.

He's her _kind_ — _classic mind_ , and he always looks _fine_ in whatever he's plucked from his closet that morning. There's the dig for her phone from her bag of brown straps, and red cloth, and the press of her fingers to see if she's missed a text. He's never late—he's _pu_ _nctual_. He's one that keeps her guessing— _never waiting_. He's _classic mind_ , and _always fine_ in more than one way.

These walls so filled with seemingly endless knowledge give no comfort. They only seek to remind her how empty this floor is. There had never been a moment since they had met that they did not meet on Friday's. That odd feeling is swelling, and then she's scolding herself. One missed meeting wasn't the end of the world. Her world had been fine before he had participated in her study sessions within this home away from her dorm room. There's the grip of her laptop from her back and the pinched brows that come. There's the flicker of her pale green to the staircase awaiting his form to emerge with that lackadaisical look painted across his face. There's the silence that echos with each action she makes preparing to study.

The distraction that comes with studying is a blessing, and the sound that comes as one chair is slid out, and then two barely grabs her attention. Pale green come with a slow drag from her screen to that of obsidian. He's all obsidian locks tucked within the white baseball cap, and obsidian eyes looking at someone other than her. Pulled up sleeves of a plum sweatshirt, and there's no missing him in sweats of black. Moving her head to follow his gaze there's the slight catch of her oxygen within her throat.

The woman is one of gorgeous vibrant locks of red, and eyes that follow the same shade. She's pale with in a hint of peach, and glasses to frame her face. There's a contrast from her girlish features of pale pink, and pale green. There's that difference in style painstakingly obvious—her choice in a deep muted pink cardigan, black undershirt, black under bust belt, and jeans entirely too girlish compared to the woman adorned in the pulled up sleeves of a tan blazer, white undershirt, and black shorts. This woman of gorgeous red locks looks far more sophisticated, and far more grown up than she could ever hope to be.

There's the immediate dart of her eyes back to her screen— _oh no, she was not going to sit here comparing herself to a girl she knew nothing of_ —and then a hand curling next to her own upon the table.

" _Sakura_." his voice is as smooth, and deep as always as he dips his head down to her blocking her view of the laptop screen, "Sorry I'm late. I had to pick up Karin to help her study."

There's the heat upon her cheeks in dusty pink with him so close within her space, "Ah—it's okay Sasuke-kun!" she's rushed within her tone and far to loud making her cup her mouth within her hands.

There's a hint of a grin upon the corners of his lips as he lets out a teasing noise to be quiet before he's removing himself from her, and sliding within his seat. Pale green look up to watch him bring his things from his messenger bag. There's a look, and then there's two, three comes, and then four has her shifting to the gorgeous red head seated beside him. There's a shared look and there's no missing the flicker of red to the male of obsidian seated in beside her.

A swallow comes, and there's the resign to take her eyes back to her screen and distract herself once more within the books and laptop she has open. Fingers grip her cheap pen and begin their scroll across their page never missing the low tone he takes in discussing something about economics, and what chapter they must be on within their textbooks.

His voice is the only constant noise outside of typing, and flips of pages. It's coaxingly normal, and very much appreciated. She's falling back within her place barely noticing the red head who's joined them. There's the occasional noise from this outsider, and the whispered words that fall from this woman of red that remind her she's present, and yet she's drowning her out in favor of the smooth voice that comes from her normal study partner.

He's her _kind_ — _classic mind_ , and he always looks _fin_ _e._ This boy makes her wanna change—he's filling her head. That habitual lick across her lip comes and there's a sudden bout of insecurity that comes as her eyes look fleetingly towards the gorgeous red head. There's thoughts of if this is the type of girl he was interested in, and curiosity if maybe she should take tips. He's never spoken of such things to her in all their time together. Could she become the type of girl that sat beside him, and not across?

Lips purse at the continued and unwanted thoughts that seem to only remind her how completely ordinary she appears next to others. There's a hum upon her lips, and she's lost in thought. There's no catch of obsidian, and there's no catch of vibrant red that look to her. Her eyes are wandering but their not focused on the walls of books. A twitch of her mouth, and another unconscious licks across her bottom lip. There's the deep inhale at how ridiculous she's being.

There's a scold— _oh god, they're not even together, and yet here she is thinking such things_ —and a twirl of her head at the call of her name.

" _Sakura_ , are we boring you?" he's low within tone, and one of those eyebrows has raised within his question.

"Oh—ah! No, no, I'm just thinking." she's responding quickly stuffing her hands within her lap, "Sorry—I didn't mean to interrupt." she's sure embarrassment has turned her cheeks dusty pink.

He seems far to satisfied at her reaction with the curve of his mouth and that eyebrow still within it's raised place. He's given her that habitual noise of a reply that she's come to love. It's entirely him, and entirely far too mischievous. The dusty pink is turning a _shade_ darker before another hum leaves his mouth.

"Do you need help?"

"Sasuke you're supposed to be helping me." the woman's voice— _he said her name was Karen. . . right?_ —is _definitely_ displeased and there's no missing that.

She's not one for conflict as she waves her hand in front of her face, "Sasuke-kun I'm fine no worries—just a bit distracted. Honest." she's not one for conflict if it's not necessary, and the last thing she needs is conflict with this woman so _definitely_ close.

He's removed his eyes from her and brought them to the third wheel of their study session, and that's enough of a queue for her to remove her own from him. She's reaching back out to the laptop with a tap here, and two taps there. She's flipping through her tabs to resume what she was working on, but there's a look here, and two looks there. Three looks comes, and four looks is making her swallow. Four looks—now she's just being dishonest—and five sets a bout of uncomfortable over her. He's far too close to the woman of red and he's got his hand pressed against her seat as he scribbles within a notebook sitting between them.

 _Oh._

He's ambidextrous— _she had never noticed before_.

A six look comes with hesitation and there's no missing the woman's lack of interest in what he's speaking. Karen— _no no, Karen's not right he said her name was Karin_ —has her eyes on him and there's no way she's going to believe otherwise. There's no missing the adoring look and that only furthers to distract her more. A thick swallow comes only seconds later—it happens on look number seven if she's being honest. This girl is definitely interested in him, but the resounding question that lingers is if he's interested in her.

There's a shade that comes across her at a new thought—she had always assumed him single with how much time they had spent together. Her mother had taught her better than to mess with someone in a relationship, and here she's kissed him on the cheek _twice_.

There's a shift of obsidian catching her within her stare—he's caught her hand not moving on the keyboard, and caught her not scribbling within her own notebook. He's clearing his throat, and the swallow she makes is thick as she removes her eyes from him with new embarrassment flooding her at being caught staring.

She's scolding herself again—a _nd man is she doing a lot of that today_.

He's of _classic mind_ so there's no possible way he'd have let her do that while being in a relationship. He's _always fine_ so it's not hard to believe there was more than one girl who had eyes for him. He's _filling her head_ far more than usual tonight, and that's an absolute lie but she's perfectly fine with sitting in denial.

Fingers dig within her hair as she sets to keep herself from staring anymore than she has. There's thoughts of that time just a few month's ago when he had cornered her within his small kitchen, and it's setting her cheeks on fire. She had decided long ago to ignore that as anything more than curiosity. She's already made a horrible impression on this girl that definitely has interest in this same male, and the last thing she needs to do is allow that voice in her head to further that.

Resigning is all she can do before she's shutting her laptop closed and flipping her books closed. There's the pull of her bag as she's putting things away. His voice has halted in her actions, and she knows obsidian are watching her every move, and yet there's the mantra to keep herself from looking back—she's look at him far more than her fair share tonight.

"You're leaving?" he's asking finally as she's raising from her seat.

"I'm hungry." she's not lying, but she's not being exactly honest either.

"Gimme a second to pack up I'll—"

"No, no. Don't stop what you're doing I can grab something in the dorm store." she's attempting her best to be reassuring, "I'll text you?"

"Sakura. I'll take you out to get food after we drop Karin off." he's pushing his seat out, "It's _Friday_."

"Sasuke, I thought we might grab a bite to eat after we were done." Karin is quick to interject.

There's a shake of her head and the pull of her bag over her shoulders, "I promise I'll text you when I get in." she's pressing her fingers upon the table, "Have a good night."

There's no stopping her feet as she's rounding the table, and leaving him heading for the stairs. There's the oddest of feelings thick upon her chest, and it's one she's not well acquainted with.

A pull of her phone. A dig for her headphones. A twirl of her hair. A shadow walking home.

The walks not far and the odd feeling is becoming heavier over her. There's a buzz of her phone within her hand, and the notification that states his name. She's not reading it till she's within her room. Those that pass by are those without names. They're heading somewhere, and she's heading home where her blonde might possibly await.

Friday's a blessing, and curse, and this ones far different that what she's grown used too. Their study session had been more than enough for her for one night. They're not going for food afterwards, and they're not going back to her dorm to watch whatever is on late as they lay upon her bed. He was right it's _Friday_ but it couldn't be further from the usual.

There's a huff at the thought and the rubbing of her hands to keep them warm as she's pulling the door to her dorm. The feeling so odd and different has made her lose her appetite. She's not feeling the slightest bit hungry.

A whine escapes her as she makes her way up the elevator, and down the hall. A slide of her card and she's walking in—the blonde's out and no where to be found, and there's a certain gratitude for such things. She's tossed her bag beside her bed, the removal of her headphones, and a seat upon the small carpet right before the television. There's a flick of a channel, and then a pause as she remembers to text him.

She's done as she says and the yawn that escapes her as she watches whatever horror flick she's come across is on the screen. She's chosen to ignore his question within his text, and she's pretty sure this is her being petty—there she goes overthinking it.

She's not sure at what point she's become so engrossed within her movie she's missed the fourth and fifth buzz of her phone. It's most likely her roommate, and that qualifies for none of her attention. It's on the seven and eighth though that she finally grabs it from her side to see what she could possible need.

She's blinking once, and then twice, and at three she's opening her phone—she's evidently ignored him for too long cause now he's calling her and there's a touch of nervousness that settles over her as she answers him.

"Sorry Sasuke-kun, I thought Ino was texting me."

"I'm outside." he has a touch of annoyance within his voice.

"You're outside? What do you mean you're outside?" she's questioning if she's heard him correctly.

"I've been outside for about twenty minutes." his voice gruff within his response, "Are you coming to let me in?"

"Ah! Yes—I'm sorry hold on. I wasn't expecting you." she's raising quickly and rushing out the door, "One second. I'll be right down."

There's no stopping her steps to let him in the door, and hope he's not too cold with the drop in temperature at night. He's standing at the door and she's opening it. He's entered and he's not saying a word. The feeling she's upset him is there, and the urgency to apologize for whatever she's done to upset him is lingering even more. They're at her door and she's reaching in her back pocket—there's no key she's locked herself out.

"Ah—I've, uh, locked myself. . .out?" she's slow within the turn of her head and it's not much sooner he's cornered her at the door, "Sasuke-kun—"

"What is your deal?" he's firm within his question, and his brows are pinched.

"Sasuke-kun I must of forgotten to grab—"

"I don't care about your key. I can easily take you to my place. What was your deal in the library—we _always_ get food, and we _definitely_ hang out after we study." his lips are pressed firm, and there's definitely the realization that her early dismissal has upset him.

"Nothing. I just—well you see I didn't want to butt into you and that girl hanging out?" that odd feeling is washing over her as she plays with her fingers threading them together.

She's not sure what she's said exactly to make his brows raise themselves from their only moment ago anger but she's not complaining either, "Karin's _just_ a friend."

"Oh? She likes you a lot. I figured—" she feels embarrassment flooding her as if she needs to explain herself, and she's sure her cheeks are _ten shades of red_ in these moments.

He's shaking his head and his fingers cover his mouth as he stares down at her, " _Sakura_."

"Yes, Sasuke-kun?" her lips cannot stop themselves from parting in curiosity still adorned in that red.

He's not answering her immediately letting his eyes move from her and then back once more. There's the opening of his mouth and then it shuts right after as if he's reconsidering what he's about the say. That hand once covering his mouth has moved to grab her hand and pull her along, "We're going back to my place. I can't have you sleeping here until your roommate gets back."

She's hesitant within her answer, and there's hope he doesn't look back to see her face fast passed the red at his hand wrapped around hers. He's brought her down the hall, and down the elevator making their way to the doors that lead them outside. Hesitation is nonexistent with this male as he's got her beside him wrapping his arm around her shoulder to shield her from the cool night.

He's her _kind_ — _classic mind_ , and he looks so _fin_ _e._ He's getting the door _—it's a silent walk._ Who's the first to speak? She doesn't know. He's taking his time _working her mind_ as he seeks to get her food after hearing she hasn't eaten. The _voice in her head_ is all that she hears feeling a sense of calm come at knowing the gorgeous girl of red is just a friend. He's not filling her bed—she'll be filling his instead.

"Sasuke-kun." she's burning all the way to the tips of her ears. He's waiting and she's taking a shot, and taking a chance, cause this is more than enough to make her make the next move, "I—Well you see. . . _I like you_."

He's not responding but pale green bring themselves with dread to his face. He's that grin and then she watches as he lets out a hum, "Ah—do you?" he's teasing her— _oh, god he's teasing her_.

She's _ten shades of red_ , and she's _definitely_ not wrong—he's her _kind_ , _classic mind_ , and looks so _fine_. He hasn't been taking _someone else_ to his place in these months. He's been taking her—and maybe that tease is all she needs to know she may just be his _kind_.


	17. He's Happy

x . x . x  
Title: He's Happy  
Prompt: Sarada was supposed to be sleeping but tonight is one of the rare times that Papa is home. He is always on airplanes and hunched over stacks of paper. All she wants is to play with him and hug him and color with him. She glanced at the living room where Mama was on the phone with Auntie Ino before tip toeing down the hall to Papa's study. Mama always said not to bother Papa when the door to his study is closed. But tonight, the door's slightly open. She was going to use that to her advantage. She peeks at the small opening and she could see Papa fighting to stay awake at his desk. She frowned and walked in. "Papa," she pouts. "You said you'd read me a bedtime story." Mama ended up doing it earlier and she was disappointed. Mama was always reading to her. She wanted it to be Papa this time.  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr  
Note: I won't lie I'm not happy with how I ended this. It feels stiff.

* * *

The tiniest of feet are carrying from her bedroom. Fingers are careful in leaving the door cracked just enough should she need to make a quick break for her bed. Her mother had long since sent her to bed, but that would not stop her from her goal— _papa was home_.

Work had kept her father away from them, and it's only on the rarest of occasions that he's not on a plane flying away to places she had never heard of, or deep within the stacks of papers that towered upon his desk. She did not wish for much from her father. She had already passed the phase of always asking why he was never home, and why he could not skip work to play with her. She knows he does it because he has too but it does not lessen the desire, and the longing. It does not lessen her wishes and it does not lessen her attempts to spend time with him.

Her mother's voice is just down the hall, and just within the living room. Holding her breath she dares to steal a glance from the doorway. Her mother is deep within a conversation on the phone, and it's as she peers from the door way that she catches wind that it's her beloved Auntie Ino. There's fear she'll be caught and a her smallest movements to press her back against the wall. A deep inhale meant to settle her nerves comes, and it's as her mother lets out a laugh at something the blonde has said does she take her chance to pass by. She pauses pressing her back against the wall once more having it made it passed the entrance to the living room. The exhale she takes is louder than she intends and makes her clasp her small hands upon her mouth. There's a second of wait for her as she sees if she's alerted her mother, and then there's the pause to settle herself once more gazing at the door parted just slightly.

Her mother had always warned her to never bother her father when the door to his study was closed, and yet tonight it was not completely shut—light spills from the small opening. She would not need to stand upon the tips of her toes to unlock it, and she would not be breaking her mother's warning. Tiptoeing down the hall there's the occasional look behind her and then a peek within the door. There's no missing the pinch of his brows and the fingers dug within locks of ebony pulling his bangs from his eyes. There's a heaviness to his lids that dip slightly as his hand scribbles upon a page. Swallowing to steel her resolve she takes careful steps in letting herself in, and doing her best to place the door exactly as it had been.

"Sarada?" his voice is laced in exhaustion, but he doesn't look angry.

"Papa." there's the kick of her foot upon the floor in nervousness, "You said you would read me a bedtime story." she dares to look to him within the dip of her head.

The wheels of his chair come to her ears, and he's coming around his desk. He's bending down to her and then his fingers once dug within his locks have come to run through her own, "Did Mama not read you one?" his voice is soft.

"She did. . . but I wanted _you_ to read me one." she's puffing her cheeks within her honesty.

Her mother was always good about reading to her before bed, but it's within these small chances that she longs to have him read to her. There had been a pout upon her face as her mother had read to her earlier—she had been unhappy that he had been wrapped within his work.

"Ah." he hums out picking her up from her waist and settling her within his arm, "Let's see what we have."

His fingers skim across the books that lined the shelves within his study. They halt upon one, "Would you like me to read to you about global economic change?" he's teasing her within the drag of his voice.

"Papa!" she's puffing those cheeks of hers within her giggles, "Noo!"

"Okay, okay—hm." he's crossing the room to the smaller shelf, "How's The Rainbow Fish, or Corduroy?"

"The Rainbow Fish!" she's excited within her choices as she tightens her hold upon his lavender dress shirt, "The Rainbow Fish, papa!"

"Okay, okay—shh you don't want your mother to hear you." he's chiding lightly grabbing the requested book, and making his way to the desk chair. Sitting her within his lap he leans back within his chair letting her snuggle within his arm.

The Rainbow Fish is a book she's well acquainted with, but that did not lessen her love for it. The colors had captured her eyes, and was one she requested often. Her mother had read it countless times, and yet this would be the first time her papa had read it to her. There's the smallest wonder in if he has read this book too.

He's opening the cover, and flipping the title page placing a wide smile upon her face. His voice is smooth within her ear, "A long way out in the deep blue sea there lived a fish. Not just an ordinary fish, but the most _beautiful_ fish in the entire ocean. His scales were every shade of blue and green and purple, with sparkling silver scales among them."

The press of his lips to her head comes with the flip of her page. She cannot stop herself from nuzzling within the affection he's giving her. The affection only seeks to make her curl her fingers within his shirt once more as she takes in his warmth, "He's such a pretty fish, papa."

"He is." his voice is gentle as he continues on with reading to her, "The other fish were amazed by his beauty. They called him Rainbow Fish. 'Come on, Rainbow Fish', they would call, 'Come and play with us!' but the Rainbow Fish would just glide past, proud and silent, letting his scales shimmer."

Her papa's voice is just soft enough for her to hear as he continues with another flip of the page. Tiny fingers seek to touch the fish upon the page running over this fish so pretty. His fingers come over her own as they run across his scales, and she cannot stop herself from turning to him with the widest of smiles. He's never one for large bright smiles, but there's a tenderness behind his smile at her. He continues as she settles back within him. His voice deep, and soothing becoming a lull of warmth that washes over her.

The pages come and go. He's slow within his reading and there is the occasional run of his fingers upon her shoulder. There's a sadness that washes over her in the other fish avoiding the Rainbow Fish, and a pout upon her lips, "The poor Rainbow Fish didn't want to give away his scales."

"Ah—he didn't, but sometimes it's good to share with others." his fingers thread within her obsidian locks rubbing soothing circles within her hair.

She's pouting but it's lessening with each movement of his fingers. A sigh of contentment falls before he's flipping to the next page withdrawing his fingers from within her hair. There's a longing for them, but it's as his voice comes to her that the momentary longing disappears. Her mother's voice is always gentle, and soft within the reading, and he wonders if she had learned to do it from papa. There's the childish curiosity of if her parents read books to each other—they're not children like her, but she thinks it would be cute to see her mother sit beside her father as he reads her a book just as he is doing now.

The turn of her body seeks to press herself further into him breathing in his sent. The Rainbow Fish that glides through the pages brings a sad smile, and a yawn from deep within her. Her father's voice deepens with the words of the octopus telling the Rainbow Fish to share his scales with the others if he wishes to be happy.

Obsidian are slow in looking up at this man so busy, but so warm. He's never home, and he's always traveling. This is what she wishes for more than anything. She wants more time with him, and she wants to have him hold her as he reads. There's the whisper within her head that she hopes he misses times like this with her as much as she does. Her mother missed him, and she missed him—what if she were to ask him for more of his time? Would he give her that?

Her lids continue to attempt to fall, and yet she is fighting through the sleepiness that's come over her within the lull of his voice. Obsidian look to the pages of the fish swimming, and the selfishness of the Rainbow Fish makes her wonder if she is being selfish with her wishes, and longing. Her mother, and her continued to wait patiently for him—and she knows they will have to continue to wait for him. He's doing his best her mother had told her before. He's working hard to provide for them her mother had said, and she knows that her mother isn't wrong.

Another yawn softer and deeper than the previous falls from the young Uchiha, "—Only one very small shimmer scale, he thought. Well maybe I wouldn't miss just one."

There's a fade of the book before her, and the blur that comes with continued dropping lids. She's not sure at what point she's missed some of the story as she drags her lids open. A hum escapes her lips as he father's voice never wavers of leaves her ears. The smile she has now is no longer wide, and beaming. It's no longer large, but soft with hints of sleep. The inhale she takes is calm, and deep as she settles to lay her head back, and allow her lids to close.

"Finally the Rainbow Fish had only one shining scale left. His most prized possessions had been given away, yet _he_ was very _happy_. 'Come on Rainbow Fish,' they called, 'Come play with us!' 'Here I come ,' said the Rainbow Fish and, happy as a splash he swam off to join his friends." he's pressing another kiss upon her head before turning to the last page.

She's mumbling within her sleep, "He's. . . _happy_ , papa."

The hum that falls from him comes as she gives way to the smallest of snores, "Ah, he is, isn't he?"

"I'd say he is." the voice of his wife comes from the door—she's leaning within the doorway with her arms crossed and that playful smile upon her face.

" _Sakura_."

"Sasuke-kun," she's whispering within her steps to him, "Sorry. I didn't hear her wake."

Fingers slide the book upon the table in an attempt to keep her from waking. He's careful taking her within his arms as he raises to meet her within the front of his desk. His wife's fingers come to press upon her back, "No—it's not your fault. I need to work harder, and make more time for _her_. . ." his fingers run within his child, so small, within his arms hair pressing her head against his shoulder, "— _for you, too_."

This woman so patient, and so loving can only widen the smile upon her lips as she brings her fingers within his hair brush them from his eyes, "You're doing just fine. She misses you—I miss you, but we _understand_."

There's a hum that falls from him at the feeling of her fingers within his hair. The dip of his head comes, there's a hint of shy upon him with his daughter within his arms, but the press of his lips comes against this wife so understanding. She is the rock within his world. She has stood tall within his constant absences, and she will continue to do so. She had never wavered, and she had never lashed out. There's no one stronger then this woman of pale pink, and sea green eyes.

He knows he does not deserve this woman so strong, and this child so well behaved. Yet, there is no denying how happy they made him even when he could not give back all that he wanted. A noise falls from him as he follows his wife from his study thinking back upon the book he had just read to his daughter.

The Rainbow Fish had become happy within his giving. He too would give more to make sure his daughter could be just as happy. He misses her, and he misses his child—he knows they miss him as he works to provide and give to them. He can only hope that he can give back all the time he's missed.


	18. Hot Mess Express

Title: Hot Mess Express  
Prompt: This wasn't how Sakura thought her day would start. She's 30 minutes late at her driver's education class and the receptionist just told her that Itachi-san, her usual driving instructor, called out sick today so they assigned her to a substitute instructor. "He's not the most patient person, Sakura, please make your way to the parking lot now," the receptionist said. Sakura thanked her before running out to the parking lot. Great. She was likely going to be stuck with a grumpy old instructor. who would be extra grumpy because she was now 35 minutes late. She saw the car she was assigned to and took a deep breath before opening the driver's side door. Instead of apologizing for being late, she gaped at the person sitting in the passenger seat. He wasn't old alright, he was probably about her age. He sure looked grumpy though but so hot. "Um, I'm sorry for being so late," she managed to say and got in the car. He rolled his eyes and glanced at his watch. "I'm taking that off your class time so you only have an hour with me," he informed her, clearly annoyed. She glanced at him briefly. He and Itach-san had a certain resemblance. He looked at her and blinked, wondering why she hasn't done anything yet. "Maybe put your seatbelt on?" he suggested.  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr  
Note: My dudes I haven't taken a driving course since I was sixteen. Like 9 years have passed since then. I winged this whole thing. As Papa Ombree once said "You only have drive correctly once." . . . Fuck that 3 and 9 shit #snort

* * *

Hot mess express doesn't even begin to explain her as she's rushing through the doors of the mandatory driving class. Fingers are desperate to calm the strands that wish to stick out from their designated places, and the twist of her button up jean shirt is far to uncomfortable. She's typically punctual but within the night her charger had died—and now she's thirty minutes late for her class. The receptionist's face is one of a small smile soaking in sympathy as she's untwisting her top in an effort to look far more composed than she really is.

The receptionist's voice is soothing, but the words are not. Her normal instructor is out for the day citing sickness as the reason and that brings dread upon her in thick waves. They have assigned her a substitute instructor, and her stomach twists with the words that fall from the receptionist, "He's not the most—patient person. . . Haruno-san, please make your way to the parking lot."

One last fleetingly look at the grimace upon the receptionist's face is all she needs before she's walking out the door with a thick swallow. Biting her lip she can only begin to imagine what terror awaits her with this substitute most likely grumpy, and old. The car is not far and it's as she's coming upon it that she takes a deep breath to settle her already shot nerves. Sliding within the driver's seat prepared to give her most earnest apology the words become caught within the midst of her throat.

Grumpy, and old—she had told herself.  
No—this man was far from old, and plenty grumpy looking.

The apology is forgotten within her blatant stare upon this male within the passenger seat. He looks to be as young as she is—what was a male this young doing teaching driving? Had he even had his license long enough to do such a thing? He was attractive at that with ebony strands, and ebony eyes—was your driving instructor allow to look this good? The tightening of his jaw comes, and there's no missing the clearing of his throat. The firm press of his lips only continues to add to this look of absolute disdain she's sure he holds for her.

"Uh—I'm sorry for being so late." she sounds far less apologetic than she could have ever hoped—this only continues to further her belief that today was just not her day.

There's the slowest drop of his lids and then a glance upon his watch. His voice is smooth within it's drag from his throat, "You're getting an hour with me for being tardy." there's no denying the annoyance that rings within every word.

The bite upon her lip has returned as she dares to give one last glance his way. There's a certain resemblance at work before her, and she can only wonder for the briefest of seconds if he and her normal instructor are related before his voice cuts through her thoughts effectively, "Adjust your mirrors? Put on your seat belt? Do you need your hand held?"

There's a wince at his words making her rush to do the things he's stated. The adjustments she makes aren't perfect but they'll do, and the click of the seat belt follows not far behind as she places her hands upon the three o'clock, and nine o'clock positions.

His voice comes out again directing her to exit the parking lot. Things aren't entirely to bad as she keeps her mouth shut and ears open for his commands, and instructions. She's done enough damage for one day, and the last thing she needs is for this male, she'll hopefully never see again, to be anymore annoyed than he already was.

The press upon the break at first is a bit rough. She's whispering an apology, and with each one that she comes across she is finally relaxing enough to do them properly. The turn she takes is done well—or at least she hopes it is as he scribbles something upon the clip board and the paper. It's as if he enjoys seeing her twitch and squirm within the scribbling he does. He's got her going through various roads. That scribble he makes upon the paper has her questioning what she's done as she drives through the alleyway he's made her turn onto. The air she sucks within her nose she prays will held bring just a little more calm, and the flexing of her fingers on the steering wheel are absolutely what she needs with the therapeutic rhythm she's managing.

At the light she hears a hum come from him, and catches him shifting within his seat from her peripherals. Her mind cannot stop itself from appreciating the features this male had been graced with—the curve of his mouth, that prominent jaw, that—"Light's green, Haruno."

It should be absolutely criminal for a driving instructor to be this attractive— _who the fuck was she kidding he's handsome_. There's another scribble upon his paper, and that only seeks to make her let out a frustrated flow of hair from her nose. She can feel his eyes on her, and she's sure whatever look he has is more of the same firm pressed lips, and brows pinched in annoyance.

Never would she have thought she wished for her usual instructor. Itachi Uchiha was a quiet man, but calm with an absolute collected air that radiated from him. He would even give the smallest of teasing remarks, and was far more relaxed than this male that sat beside her within this small vehicle. If you had told her this is what awaited her she would of skipped all together. Driving with someone tense was only furthering her anxiety behind the wheel.

Her shoulders tense as she hears the tap of his pencil upon the paper, and then there's a snort.

Pale green slide quickly to look at him—and _Jesus Christ he's fucking grinning_ — _this bastard is grinning at how freaked he has her_. There's a hiss threatening to fall from her mouth, but she won't. She can't if she's being honest, because the last thing she needs is to have him failing her because she couldn't keep herself in check. Swallowing thickly she tries to push the lump of words she will not let fall down as she reminds herself to relax. Driving wasn't hard, and she had never been one to panic thus far, but never had she been with someone quiet like— _wait, what the hell was his name_ _even_?

Clearing her throat she pushes her nerves away to speak, "I'm sorry. I never caught your name?"

"Ah—It's Sasuke Uchiha." he answered within a hum.

"Oh? Are you related to Itachi-san?" she's let her initial thoughts become confirmed.

"He's my brother." he's direct within his response as if he's been asked this more than once.

"Ah, that's really neat since he's my usual instructor."

"I know."

That's all she needs to keep her mouth shut, and it's here that she's trying to figure out within her head how the two siblings could be so different. He was not harsh within his response, and yet that drag of his voice had been so uninterested, and so very much over her idle chatter. The silence within the car is not as thick as it had been but it still lingers. Something needs to clear this air or she's sure she'll twist herself into a pretzel.

Another scribble comes as she stops at a red light, and finally she decides a more earnest apology for how this all started is needed, "I am sorry that I was late." she's being sincere and the heavy feeling upon her chest she notes is less with her words.

"I heard you were one for being on time. I wasn't expecting it."

There's a muffled noise that falls from her, "I had some issues this morning. I'm sorry you were waiting as long as you were."

"You've apologized enough—let it go." he's humming within his words again as his pencil comes to jot down another note, "You've got about fifteen minutes. We'll start heading back now—take the next right."

She's crossing her arms as she turns the wheel to take what he's told her, "Don't cross your arms like that. If the air bag would deploy you'd break your arms."

"Oh? Ah—sorry I'll correct that." she's now the one humming within her response.

The silence that comes over them now isn't one so thick. She wouldn't call it relaxing but it's better than where it had been—so much better. The therapeutic curl of her fingers upon the wheel is lessening as she takes another road, and it's at the stop sign when she's checking both ways that she notes he too has relaxed a bit more from his once rigid posture. There's a tap of his pencil against the paper locked within the clipboard as if he's thinking, and yet there is no scribble to follow it.

Pulling into the parking lot she's takes the space he's told her too, and as she switches to park she lets out a much needed exhale far too thankful it's done and over with.

Her fingers fidget within her lap as he writes something else upon his paper before he's turning to her, and she takes his lead to look at him.

"You did well—Itachi said you would." there's a hint of a smirk within the corners of his lips.

"That's a relief! At least something's gone well today." she's placing her hand against her chest with a few giggles escaping her.

"Ah—" that hum comes from him, and she's not entirely sure what he's meant with it, but he's taking his seat belt off, and she's more than happy to continue in following his lead shutting the car off and pulling the keys from the ignition.

He's rounding the car to her with one of his hands within his khaki pants as the other holds the clipboard beside him. There's a shift of his weight, "Haruno-san."

"Yes?"

"Your pants are inside out. The tag is showing." he's chuckling by the end of it.

Pale green eyes widen— _oh no, oh no, no, no, this asshole is snickering at her, and fuck it sounds way too good_. Why in the world God had decided to be cruel to her today was beyond her, but she'll be sure to send that prayer at a time when she's not flushed in embarrassment and trying to cover the tag he's made sure to mention, "Ah—you're far too gullible."

The smirk she had seen hiding within the corners has finally decorated his mouth for her to see. She's flushed within a feeling—embarrassment doesn't quite hit it, and anger isn't all of it.

"It's as if you like torturing me." she's groaning hiding her face within her hands as if it would keep him from seeing her far too bright red face.

"Hm—Have a good day Haruno-san. Don't forget to drop the keys off with the receptionist." his farewell has her peeking from between her fingers as he turns to leave.

"You as well, Uchiha-san." finger's pull themselves down her face as if it will relieve her from the flushed mess she is.

"Sasuke." he's stopped to turn and look her way once more with the cockiest of smiles.

It should be absolutely criminal for a driving instructor to be this handsome with such a cocky look upon his face. It should be absolutely against everything in the universe to make a girl this embarrassed at that.

Grumpy, and old—she had told herself.  
No—this man was far from old, and far from grumpy—god, _he was down right ornery_.  
Ornery she could deal with though—her father was the _orneriest_ of them all, and while he had been nothing like her first thoughts had lead her to believe there is only lingering curiosity as to what else she had been wrong about.

Fingers curl upon her hip as it's partner seeks to run through her hair. Ruffling her locks she can only follow his already retreating form.


	19. Brush of Fingers

x . x . x  
Title: Brush of Fingers  
Prompt: How about a reincarnation au but in sasuke's pov? Wherein everytime he sees sakura, he may not know her, but his heart always beat so fast and he can't explain it.  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr  
Note: . . . Don't even ask me why I was rhyming everything. I don't have a single clue wtf I was doing. Jesus take the wheel.

* * *

She's never the same—  
It's blood in the wind.  
Dust in the sky.

She's the painting within his mind that he can't find. Nothing can stop him from longing for her eyes. There's no explanation, and always contemplation. It never goes away—the thinking. It echoes in empty rooms. Those strands are coaxing. Those eyes of hers— _they glow_.

There's never a time or place—she is always there within his world, and he is always within hers. In a world where time always turns, and places are chase. Those lips are always curved. Nothing could stop him from longing for her. When the night gets cold he is never alone. He won't remember her when he wakes—but it won't lessen the shakes.

In this world that's always turning all the time.  
Traces linger, and his heart quivers. The brush of fingers—enemies or lovers?  
She's the picture within his mind—

Flutters of lids and the turn of his head. Pale rose-colored strands spill within his bed. The rise that comes within her chest is steady, and slow lost within a world far different from their own. Obsidian are tender upon this woman who dances within her dreams. Warm and soothing is her essence as she curls within her sleep. She's come closer and there's no stopping the stretch of his arm to bring her nearer. This woman was coaxing in the _brush of her fingers_. The even breaths she breathes within her lull are like those of a siren's call. Inhalation, and the calmest of sensations—she's floral.

How long had he been away from her? He had been gone for so long and within the dimensions that threatened. Yet, here she had stayed forever understand and never demanding. She's the girl who had loved for so long, and yet just as she had within their childhood, and teens she never quitted. He's humming within her hair—she's the picture within his mind that he could find.

Those lips are always curved. Nothing could stop him from longing for her. When the night gets cold he is never alone. He won't remember her when he wakes—but it won't lessen the shakes.

It's the clearing of his best friend's throat that captures his attention. This man of blonde, and blue is grinning as if he was winning. He knows he's been rude within his daydream, and the apology is out before he's ruined the mood. Naruto was getting married—the woman beside him so much her namesake—she's pale rose-colored strands, and a _glowing_ that demands.

They're just meeting for the first time, and yet it's her presence that sits so odd. He cannot explain the rate in which his heart beats against his chest. He's sinking within this hollow ground with faces and places so nameless. There's no denying the pride he feels at seeing his best friend so overcome within his announcement of marriage— _he's only denying the speed at which his heart beats for her_. Finger's stir the coffee within his cup. She's a nice enough girl, but she's his best friend's girl. Swallowing thickly he attempts to stop the call of his eyes to her. There's a warmth that flows through her, and that's all he needs to know—that's what brought her to woah his friend. There's a _brush of those fingers—_ it's the rush he gets when their gone.

There's never a time or place—she is always there within his world, and he is always within hers. In a world where time always turns, and places are chase. It almost seems like it's an absolute waste. In this world that's always turning all the time. Nothing could stop his longing for her.

She's never the same—  
It's blood with the wind.  
That's why she shouldn't have _came_.

This lake of fire is burning his skin. When had their love become so thin? She's the temptress in the form of an empress. He's dug through her down to his hilt, and she's all but wilt. Those lips of hers are curved, and those eyes of hers— _they glow_. Nothing could stop him from hurting her somehow. Tonight is one that's cold, and now he's all alone. She's been sacrificed by his malice. The cry that echoes is but a simple why.

She had gotten within the fray, but that had always been her way. She'd promised to take away his pain within her rein. He had done the unthinkable—he had cut her down to get to his prey because just like her that was his way. The flutter of those lids has him uttering more of the same whys. She's the picture within his mind with the _brush of those fingers_. They dance upon his hilt to take his in hers— _to take them in mine_.

In this world that's always turning all the time.  
Traces linger, and his heart quivers.  
She's the picture within his mind—she's a classic within the flow of time.

She's a nurse— _one with an absolute curse_. She's got a fire that never seems to tire. He's just a doctor, and she's just the helping hand. She's the one that's brought him papers— _it's that brush of those fingers_. It's a heart beat that won't dare stay within it's keep. It's the surge, and a merge—yet it won't be what keeps her. This here is where they'll diverge.

Gone, and but not always for long. Dusting cheeks, with words unspoke. He's alone, but it won't be for long. His worlds full of red, but there is no dread. The woman who holds him isn't what molds him. He won't leave his fiancee—she's the one leaving within a transfer. She's the one painted within his mind.

Nothing can stop him from longing for her eyes. There's no explanation, and always contemplation. It never goes away—the thinking. It echoes in empty rooms. Those strands are coaxing.

Those eyes of hers— _they glow_.

It's the startle in all of it's marvel— _a brush of those fingers_ and the showing of his royal flush. The games been won, but he's far from done. The click of his fingers upon the table add another bidding to his corner. He's cleaning house, but he's as silent as a mouse. She's the dealer, and he's the player. Her mind's ticking, and his fingers are still clicking. There's no explanation it's truly all just contemplation. The speed of his heart is all that makes him wish to recede. Those strands of hers are short—pale and rose. Glowing viridian are completely unknowing—she's looking to find how he's cheating. It's got him retreating. He's won enough for one night—he's out of town on the next flight. She's the painting within his mind that he can't find. Nothing can stop him from longing for her eyes.

Those lips are always curved. Nothing could stop him from longing for her. When the night gets cold he is never alone. He won't remember her when he wakes—but it won't lessen the shakes in a world that's turning all the time.

She's a dwarf—dangerous, of course. He's got his bow pointed on her. Elvish and there's a history there. These creatures so short in stature—he could easily match her. He's quick within his shot, but she's not so easily crossed. The slam of her axe sends the impact. The ground has shattered, and they're within battle. There's no reason—just distaste, and a lack of tact. He's all but willing to shoot her down, but it's that close quarters that's got him stumbling back. This woman so small has given into her fall. They're crashed, and smashed. She's not heavy even with her face heated. _A brush of fingers_ have set within his hair lost within a linger.

There's no realization for his heart beat that's quickened. He's brushing it off claiming it to be flushing. She's scrambling to give him space. This fight of theirs is over without a trace. There's no moment in which he thinks he'll see her again. Little had he known this had only began. She's the picture within his mind—

She's never the same—but she's always her name.  
He's become such a heavyhearted thinker. He's sure in another life he must have been a drinker.  
She never goes away. He just barely manages to keep her at bay.  
She paints a picture within his mind—and he's desperate it to leave it all behind.

The heat is driving them crazy. The world that's always turning is but a flicker within the time—wild and west, but he's always got his crest. She's pressing and holding as they're trotting. A swallow is thick at her so close. He's all but panicked under it all. It's a brush of fingers upon his clothed form that lingers. The beat at which they ride does little to stop the heat. He would never leave her behind—she's silently everything he could have hoped to find.

Town after town—they're really just making rounds. She can be chatty, and most certainly catty. There's nothing he'd want more though. When they night gets cold she never leaves him alone. In this world that turns all the time there's no doubt he's longing for those eyes.

He won't remember her when he wakes—but it won't lessen the shakes. Those strands are coaxing. Those eyes of hers are _glowing._ There's never a singular time or place, and yet they couldn't be more chase _._ She's forever within his world, and he is always in hers.

He's a gasp—it's truly more of a rasp. She's not spilled within his bed—he's all alone. Fingers brush within those obsidian long since drenched. He's moving, and then he's looking so disapproving. There's the notice of bags from under his eyes and that urge to remember that which had woken him. He hasn't remembered her once again within this morning. He's questioning why it feels as though he's mourning.

It's this world that's turning all the time. There's the paint within his mind but he's resigned to leave it all behind. Traces linger, and his heart quivers. It's not stopping him from walking out the door as he's buttoning his shirt even more. Steps are solid as he's making for the subway. The sun is out to remind him of this loved one. She's never the same— _she's just a whisper within the wind_. Nothing can stop him from wanting her somehow. His mind is sinking within the ground.

It's not until the night brings cold he's decided he'll stay alone.

She's just a stranger but she's not one of danger. She's seated upon this subway train and she's the painting within his mind that he could never seem to find. She's there right within his grasp—if only he could make it last. They no nothing of one another, and yet it doesn't stop the flow of his eyes to look upon her. It's a movement of the train that brings a brush of fingers. Long strands of pale rose, and eyes that glow—it's what makes his heart gong. There's no explanation just more of that same contemplation. The apologies she's given are but another added to these anthologies.

He's never understood but if he could he would.

There's always a moment—he's missed more than he's found. She's always within his world, and he would always be within hers. He's lost another of these chances, and there will be no advances. There's only himself to blame. If only he could remember her all the same.

He's going his way, and she's going hers. She spares no glances, but it's on this one he takes his chances. There's no explanation for why he feels her pull him. There's only that contemplation of him being a fool. Words continue unspoken as they watch her within her walk away unbroken. This is where they diverged once again unable to merge. It's a shake of his head that brings him from the quake he feels. She's never the same—and neither is he. It's just another wasted moment as he heads in the opposite direction.

In this world that's always turning all the time he's missed her sweet chime. Traces of her will continue to linger, and his heart beat will always quiver. _The brush of fingers_ —are what bring the spiked rush that will continue to linger.

She's just the picture within his mind he could never hope to find.  
Nothing could stop him from longing for those eyes within his subconscious mind.

 _They won't always be alone_.


	20. Twelve Weeks

x.x.x.x

Title: Twelve Weeks  
Prompt: She is stepping out of the shower when she hears something outside. She puts on her bathrobe and walks out of the bathroom only to find him sitting on her bed. Water drips from her pink locks as she takes him in: same pale face, hair mussed and necktie undone; beautiful. His eyes look at her face before lingering on the noticeable bulge on her robe. He already knows. She could never surprise him. "You're home early," she smiles, knowing exactly why.  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr  
Note: Shorter than I'd like but I was digging some fluff. Wholesome SasuSaku is always acceptable, imo.

* * *

Soap, and water mix upon her skin as she rinses herself off. The contented sigh that falls from her as she turns the nob of the shower shutting the water off. Fingers run through pale pink strands to rid it of the excess water. There's the muffled noises from outside the bathroom door—it's the sound of the front door closing and what could only be keys being set upon a table.

There's no rush to wiping herself down and running the towel through her strands before grabbing the bathrobe that sits upon the hook of the bathroom door. There's the subtle girlish grin that comes across her features. Anyone else would feel worry at hearing the door of their home being opened. Anyone else would be concerned at hearing someone make themselves at home when they should normally be alone. She's not just anyone though—he might have been gone for the last few months on a business trip, but there's _no doubt_ he's the one lingering within their apartment.

A hum of amusement comes as she's making her way into the bedroom. Water drops fall from her pale pink strands as she drinks in his presence upon their bed—he's a man of _classic_ and _refined_ looks. Pale complexion, tousled hair, and that blue necktie she gave him for his birthday just a few months ago undone and hanging loosely upon him. He's always been one far more handsome than one should be allowed. Even in all the time they had been dating, even well after they had begun to live together, and even after she had agreed to marry him he had never looked less than handsome.

Those obsidian capture her gaze effortlessly, and there's no missing the shift they make upon her mid section wrapped within the bathrobe. They linger and their drinking her in—it's so _obvious_ as it decorates his face. He's not one for outward reflections. He's entirely subtle as he digests her, and there's no doubt in her mind that he had known long before he had entered their home. Legs shift weight from one to the other. She could never surprise him. It's almost as if he had planned it all from the start.

"You're home early." she cannot stop the smile from spreading wider across her features.

"Ah—just for a day or two." there's humor laced within that hum of a response he gives, "Figured I should confirm something."

There's a certain level of arrogance upon his features as she finally steps from the door way to meet him at the bed, "Surprise—haha!" she's giggling as his fingers have come to grasp her hand within his own.

"When did you find out?" he's rubbing his thumb upon the back of her hand keeping his eyes trained upon the pale emerald that glow within this moment between them.

 _They were going to be parents—there's no stopping this thrill between them._

"Hm—Ah, I wanna say I first went about two or three weeks after you left for your business trip. I was late." she runs her fingers through those tousled obsidian locks of his, "Looks like you intended to surprise me instead."

The grin that comes across his features is absolutely boyish even within their late thirties, "You didn't seem too surprised."

"Oh, I have been plenty surprised—I can assure you on that _Mr. Uchiha_." she's beaming within the bite upon her bottom lip.

"Well, _Mrs. Uchiha_ , who all else was informed before me?" his fingers leave her hand within his tease to pull her closer to him—she's still early with her at twelve weeks.

Fingers wrap around his neck, "I figured you'd like the honors of informing your mother. She won't be able to ask when you're going to provide her with a grandchild anymore."

The snort that falls from him loud and sends her into another fit of humored light laughs. There's nothing else to say between the two of them. They're content with just holding each other like this. Soothing rubs come with her fingers deep within those obsidian, and the deep inhale he takes its undoubtedly one of contentment. There had been no stress when she had found out. She knew he would be more than happy to hear of her carrying his child.

She's missed him in his time away, and to have him here to witness her growing baby bump is more than welcomed. Every phone call they shared within his time away had almost made her slip. She had almost given it away, but she's sure he had caught on well before now. Keeping something from Sasuke Uchiha, of all people, was never easy. He always seemed to know, and he always seemed to be four steps a head of her in everything they did, "Are you nervous at all?"

"No. You'll be a great mother." he's tender within his pull from her to look her into her pale emerald.

"You know that's not what I meant." she's scolding him lightly, "Come now, what would you like for dinner?" she's stepping away from him in hopes of getting changed only to have his hand upon her own again.

"You're not cooking." he's firm within his statement making it clear there's no room for debate, but he married her knowing she was stubborn.

"I'm a little over twelve weeks pregnant—not disabled." she's groaning with her pout, "I can do all the same things I've been doing."

The glower upon his features is far to common, but it holds a certain level of childishness to it this round. The grasp upon her hand is released, and he's shaking his head as he makes his way from the bedroom and down the hall. Fingers grasp one of her husband's many shirts that sit within his dresser, and there's a knowing smile upon her face as she slides a part of shorts upon her—she's not going to be a fan of not being able to wear her regular clothes soon as it was.

Down the hall with fingers running through her damp locks and the raised eyebrow comes with seeing his white button ups sleeves pulled back to his elbows as he washes the spinach within the sink. He's laid out the usual salads—tomatoes, olives, and shredded cheese. There's a scrunch of her nose giving away her disgust, "No olives—oh god, definitely, none of those."

His fingers halt within their cleaning to look at her. It's a blink, and then another. The shift of his weight comes and she can see those gears turning before he realizes why. He's shutting the water off and grabbing the container of olives and throwing them within the garbage, "What else makes you nauseated?"

"Well—more like I'm craving pickles. Olives seem to be the only thing that make me want to hurl the minute I see or smell them." she's sticking her tongue out in displeasure at the thought of them.

There's a chuckle that falls from him at her overly dramatic explanation, and her feet bringing her to the fridge. Pulling the jar of kosher dill pickle spears from the fridge she's quick to try and remove the lid before coming beside him for assistance, "You'll spoil your dinner." he scolds her lightly handing her the lid he has twist from the jar.

"I'll be fine. . . so you thinking a boy or girl?" she's quick in pulling a spear from the jar and taking a bite. The noise of excitement that leaves her brings but another snort from him and that grin seems to be etched permanently upon his lips.

He brings the strainer of washed spinach to the counter before grabbing a knife to slice within the tomatoes he's placed out, "A girl." he seems entirely too sure with his response.

"What if it's a boy?" she leans upon the counter with her elbows resting upon it, "I think if he gets my godforsaken hair we should call him Momoiro."

"It's gonna be a girl." he shakes his head, "Your hair is fine—wait you would name our child pink?"

"Well yeah. It would be fitting." she doesn't bother to share his gaze as she takes another bite of the spear pickle, "and please don't pretend like it would be okay for our children to take after my hair color."

He's silent and the chopping does not continue and that's what finally makes her drag her eyes to him. She can only blink with her cheek puffed from the pickle that sits within it half chewed. The slow chew she gives way to shows her registering his face so close to her own, "What?"

Those lips of his press against her own—it's a tender little peck if anything—before resuming his intended task, "Let's hold off on names for now—but it's still going to be a girl."

The puff of hair that falls from her at his determination that it'll be girl comes, but it doesn't sour her mood. She'll let him have his way this one time and hold off on discussing possible names for their child. Swallowing down the food she's finally taken the time to chew she grabs but another pickle from the jar, "Fine—fine. We'll decide on that later. I'd love a boy, though, especially if they look like you."

There's a chuckle that falls from him, "Oh? Need more than one of me do you."

A roll of her eyes over comes her with his little remark—he's so sure and so determined for it to be a girl. She wants a boy that looks like him—forever handsome with that classic and refined look that's been him in all this time. There's the curl of his fingers within her damp hair as he rubs his fingers within her scalp.

Yeah— _she definitely wants a child that's like him._


	21. The Lucky One

x.x.x  
Title: The Lucky One  
Prompt: 'i didn't want to tell my friend who my real date last night was so i just pointed at a random stranger (you) but now they're storming over to interrogate you and you're playing along? okay' au  
Note: Man. It's been ages it feels like since I did something for this and it's kinda nice to get back to this. Have i mentioned I love having Sasuke be a bit on the cockier side? haha

* * *

Embarrassment floods her as her friend has her cornered. The blonde is demanding and she's not willing to stop until she gets what she wants—all she has to do is tell her who her date was the night before and this will all go away. There's no missing how her friend's nose flares as baby blues stare down viridian. Swallowing thickly the panic only continues to rise. There's no way she can admit she agreed to go on a date with Rock Lee.

The boy was sweet, but there just had been no chemistry. It wasn't a him issue. No, it had clearly been a her issue. One little white lie and her friend was demanding all of the details—how could she tell her it had been lack luster? One little white lie of saying it was a nice, and quaint dinner and now the blonde wouldn't let her take two steps into the cafe.

As if swallowing the lump in her throat was going to save her she can't help but scan anything and everything she possibly could as a means of escape. Lips are moving, and it's another white lie completely unintended, as nods her head across the road and towards a boy with obsidian locks, "Jesus, Ino, I went with him, okay? Are we done with this? I'd like to get our table and coffee already."

Silence, and then the realization of what she said clicks—did she think it clicked?

 _Ah, no_.  
It wasn't that simple.  
That realization came with her best friend's steps as she headed towards the random male she had pointed out.

 _Regret_.  
So much regret.  
 _There's no way she's going to live this down_.

No. Possible. Way.

She's reaching out as if she can possibly stop the blonde. There's no way she can with her already so far away. Her throat tightens as she seeks to follow behind and catch up, "I-Ino. Hold up, what are you doing!?"

"Hey, you! Ya, you! Pretty boy!" the march at which she walks makes it clear she has no intention of stopping.

One raised eyebrow and the most lackadaisical looks is upon his face as her blonde best friend comes to stand before him. The male's own blonde gives but a head tilt before catching viridian, "Teme, what did you do this time?"

"Ino—what are you doing?" she's finally gripped her arm as if it will make a difference.

What Ino Yamanaka wanted Ino Yamanaka got. Everyone knew this, and she was no exception. They had been friends since diapers. She of all people knew this far more than the rest. There should have been no surprise at this kind of reaction, and yet it doesn't stop her from feeling her stomach drop at what can only spell disaster.

The smallest of looks comes between her and those obsidian—he's gauging her. He flickers between her, and the blonde before settling on her viridian. When she had pointed him out in the crowd it had been such a subconscious thing. This man was a league all on his own. He couldn't be any older than her than by a year or two, and yet there's no missing those obsidian stands that frame his face along with a simple pair of headphones wrapped around his neck.

There's no telling if the swallow she has this time is caused by the panic or by the fact there's a definite physical attraction on her side. He's dressed casual but with a hint of class—dark blue jeans, and a charcoal gray sweater—and more than enough height to go with it all.

This man is going to call her out—he's gonna tell her best friend she's lied.  
There's almost a desire to let out the most bitter of laughs.

One to many white lies brought you to this point and it was about to catch up to her in full force. Payback was overdue—so much for her I.O.U.

She should at least consider herself lucky that she got this far trying to deflect her best friends constant interest in her dating life. Sometimes though you just have to throw in the towel—hooray, she's quite the lucky one.

Fingers release her friend and just as she flickers her eyes to her blonde friend, who has yet to release this poor stranger from her stare down, she's cut off instantly, "What can I do for you?"

"What's you intentions with Sakura? You think you can dazzle her with a nice dinner but I smell bullshit." there's the Ino Yamanaka she knows—always goes for the kill.

The whine at the base of her throat is halted by the other innocent male who has unfortunately been caught up in this, "Sasuke, what the hell? You ignored me last night for a date?"

"Well, you see—" her voice is struggling to find a place among them only to be for a third time cut off as if she has no right to save herself from the humiliation this is surely meant to bring.

"Would you have rather I took her to some dump?" his voice is even and there's no missing the way he grips his messenger bag and prepositions it.

She's taken back by the words that fall, and now she's questioning if she even heard him correctly. She's feeling like a stupid schmuck—but _holy shit_ , does she believe in luck. There's a lesson to be learned here, and if she makes it out of this she swears she'll never tell another white lie again.

Oh, is she the lucky one— _this round_.

"Well—that's not the point. Are you just here to hit it, and quit it?" the scowl upon the blonde doesn't even have to be viewed to know it's decorated her face with this insinuation.

"Ino, you're going way too far." she's found her voice amongst the crowd bring all the attention upon her, "Please, just stop."

"No. Not until I know your not dating some random creep."

"What would you like to know?" he's still that calm, cool, and collected he's been since the beginning as he presses his hands within his jean pockets.

Little did this man seem to realize that was the last question he should have asked. Ino would devour him whole. There's a shared gaze for the briefest of moments—it holds a ton of apologizes, and thousand more thank yous.

The blonde is relentless, but the answers he gives has no sign of backing down. She swore this was like an intense game of ping pong. It didn't seem to matter to him what she asked. In fact, she'd be daring enough to say he found humor in all of her best friend's anger. There's a price to pay for this though she is more than certain, and a verbal apology to follow right behind. The panic still lingers but it's for an entirely different reason now.

This man goes to a local university. He's studying political science, and he's not a bum—he's actually got a job unlike her last boyfriend. There's almost a question of how good this man is at lying, because he almost sounds far too good for his own good.

A frustrated noise leaves the blonde, "Fine, but you better treat her decently."

He's raising an eyebrow at the obvious 'best friend' threat that truly holds no legitimate weight, "Whatever." the inhale he takes shows his lack of patience is starting to come into play, and that's the only thing she needs to grab her best friend's hand.

"Ino, come on we were supposed to grab coffee before I have work. I'm gonna be late if you keep this up." she bites upon her bottom lip as she urges her friend to let this go.

"Fine." it's a huff of air and the blonde finally is relenting and stepping away, "I'll leave you to say your goodbyes, but don't keep me waiting."

She waits it out until her best friend stands across the street from where they had come, and finally the air she hadn't known she was even holding finds its way from her lungs, "Listen—ah!"

He's gripped her hand and dragging her away, "Naruto, wait here. I wanna speak to my _girlfriend_. Privately." there's no denying how absolute deadpanned that tone of his is.

This was the moment—and that panic is raising far quicker than it should be allowed. They don't make it far, and she can only assume he's done this purposely having made it to a light pole at the crosswalk.

"Explanation?"

"I may have, uh, sorta, maybe told her I went on a date with you last night because I didn't wanna tell her I went with this other dude—don't misunderstand he wasn't, like, bad it just wasn't a particularly—wait, why am I telling you this? Listen, I'm sorry." the heat upon her cheeks is there and it's here she's sure she'll die of embarrassment.

The hum he lets out is there and then he's leaning forward with his arm prepped against the light pole. This man is entirely far too tall for his good, and god, is he standing so close, "Well. What am I getting out of this little lie of yours?"

"Uh, well. What did you have in mind?" she grips upon her arm as she stands there almost like a child being scolded, "I'm not sure how I could repay you for lying."

The shift of his mouth comes, and then the flicker of his eyes upon the ground before returning to her, "You'll just have to let me take you out on a date to call it even."

If this was his idea of a joke she wasn't laughing. The grip on her arm tightens at what he's asked for, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, _Sakura_." he's got the smallest of smirks upon the corners of his lips, and it's here she realizes he's entirely serious, "Well?"

She bites upon the bottom of her lip as she seeks to find the cons involved in this. What were the actual statistics of this working out in her benefit? Luckily she's one who believes in luck. Evidently that I.O.U. she had was still in effect. This date he's proposing could definitely go wrong, but he's saved her ass today, and it's because of this she'll give it a shot, "Sure, uh—"

"Sasuke. Sasuke Uchiha." he's filling in the blanks for her, and there's almost a cockiness to the way he gives it to her.

"Ah, uh, yes. I'll agree to a date, Uchiha-san." there's a touch of shy in this moment as she dares a glance to him.

"Sasuke." his mouth tilts making it clear he's amused by her use of his last name.

"Sasuke-kun?" she licks her upper lip before daring to ask this next question, "Why exactly is this what you want?"

The hum he lets out as he chooses to remove his arm from the light post almost makes her feel like he's toying with her, "Maybe I wanna see what all the fuss over you is about."

She watches as he reaches into his pocket and pulls forth his phone before handing it to her. Tapping her info in she still can't help but find this uncanny in every way—who is she kidding? This surely is using all of her luck for the year. Handing over her phone she can't help but twist her hands behind her as she looks up at him and that almost triumphant smirk upon his features.

Fingers find their way to her shoulder and its with a whisper to her ear that she feels his breath tickle her ear, "See you soon, _Sakura_."

There's no stopping this impulse to look at him as he heads back over to his friend who stands there clearly annoyed and unamused. This boy was different. That air of confidence is obvious, those looks are definitely she something she won't deny, and there's an absolute power behind his stride. Inhaling deep she'll count this one as a win. There's the smallest of excitement at hearing from him and seeing where this possible future date will go.

The feel of her phone vibrating catches her attention, and Ino's name is all it takes to make her run across the street after having taken so much time to just simple stare this man down—if she could be honest with herself she was gawking.

It takes everything within her being not to let the laugh fall that's coming up. She's not sixteen anymore but she definitely knows this giddy feeling.

 _Oh, is she the lucky one_.


	22. Down Below

x.x.x  
Title: Down Below  
Prompt: Pirates and Mermaids.

* * *

Waters down below and salt within the air. The rolling of the waves against the wood and the shift of the vessel beneath the worn and heavy boots weathered from the sea. Ghosts linger upon the crew's tongues. Wild tall tales and masts that stand even taller all they know as they sail forward.

He's done this a long time— _long enough to have become cruel_ _er with every run in_.

Sea serpents challenging within the storm. Kraken awakened and ready to drag them down below. Siren's coaxing luring them away. Sea beasts employed when they had killed one too many of the Siren. Mermaids— _they're devilfish_.

The grind of his teeth comes at such a thought, and yet here they are hunting one.

 _Guards of the fountain of youth_.  
He doesn't need more than their tears.

The call of one his crew has him turning and regarding them silently. He's the captain of this vessel. They're curious as to what has put them in search of something so dangerous.

This is one of selfish intent—it's not of their business.  
They're his crew. They'll do as he says.

— _Or they'll find themselves overboard_.

A wave of his hand is all he intends to give. He pays them all well enough in the spoils that have come a long the way. There's a time limit to this journey upon the sea. They have to act quickly. They have no time to take in the feelings of such devilfish.

They're far from home but it still feels close. His mother awaits back on shores too man miles to count. He'll bring her the fountain of youth. He'll help her over come her illnesses or fall into an ambiance of nothing left.

The night is dark but the stars make it easy to know where they're heading. The city they search for is one that protects these devilfish when they deem it fit to masquerade as humans. Disgusting—they're regarded as beauties that lure men into their arms only to drag them down below the waters surface. He'll be damned if he falls for such trickery.

The creak beneath his books comes as he releases his hold upon the edge his ship and makes for his cabin. They've got more than enough nights before they'll dock, and flood their city. Sleep is all that can be done here. The sea is calm and that means the majority of them can rest at ease.

He trusts his men to get them there safe. Under covers and under no light he settled. The map disregarded upon his desk. The shift of the boat beneath him barely felt, and that all too familiar sounds that come with living on waters. They've become calming over the years. He's adjusted so much that sleeping and staying on shore feels off—oddly unsatisfying.

That won't stop him from returning home.  
His mother needs him and he'll do whatever it takes to bring her the fountain of youth.

 _He can rid himself of concern once that's done_.

A wink or two is all he's given before he's brought about by the sound of thunder, and the light given off by lightning outside. His coat is the last thing as on his mind no less his hat as he shoves off the blankets and makes his way out upon the ship. His men are rushing and frantic to keep their ship from being over turned, and he's right beside them pulling upon the ropes as they begin to slide back and forth.

Wet and soaked deep down to the bone. The waves come over the side of his ship spilling upon the wood. They're being tossed so unforgiving, and the only thing they've got going for them is the lack of a sea monster. Their hands are tied up enough trying to keep themselves and the ship steady upon such violent waves.

Cracks of lightning don't make it any less difficult.

One of his men is going over tripping and down below their scream a melody this late in the game. They'll escape within the dawn—that's the life they've lived.

No one can breath and it's as the wave comes over that he's rushing forward to stop another from falling over. He's their captain and regardless of rumors there is honor among them. His hand's grabbed a hold of their wrist and there's the pull of his drenched shirt from behind—but no amount of honor or man power is stopping the wave that towards over them.

Eyes wide and a refusal to let go is what's going to cost him dearly. His lungs are full and he feels the water rising above his head as he's been thrown overboard. The crew member he had sought to keep from such fate can't even be heard as he fights in vain to stay a float.

It's like the breath before a dive—quick and gone just as fast had it had come.

That crushing sound from the sky above is the only thing he can take it as water comes within his nose. His men are seeking to retrieve them but that won't be what happens.

There's something twisting under his arms and around his torso—he'll be dragged down below.

 _Fight or flight_ —he be damned before any of these creatures take him with them within the waters.  
If only he could breath has he thrashes back against whatever holds him.

Fingers upon his eyes and that arm tightening around his torso. He's whipped back and forth and his ship isn't right before him any more it's so much further away. It seems they won't have to cause a ruckus within the city they had sought—a mermaids gone and come to him instead.

This is no time to see this as a victory.  
 _They have the upper hand_.

He wants that quite silence from deep within his cabin.  
Yet, he's twisting and pushing.

Washed away and submerged. That devilfish has lost her hold on him with such force. It's not enough as the water over takes him and he finally finds some of that quite silence. Underneath such violent waves it's so much calmer. All that energy, and all that strength is gone as he sinks further below. His hand reaches out as if he can just grab the surface.

Lids flutter down and an unforgivable acceptance comes over him

He's done this for such a long time— _too long if he's being honest_.

This is his life though. This is the route he had taken.

It's a fitting end—but a sour one no less.

The fountain of youth wouldn't come to his hands inside of a watery grave. There's a terror when you go this far down. It's dark and deep, and that light from the surface just continues to become dimmer as the body becomes heavier.

His eyes open wide and all it can take in is a bright blue. There's something within his throat and it's got him twisting as it constricts and expels the bitter sea water. The hack that comes has his body quaking. His limbs are exhausted and his mind fuzzy and the sea water continues to rise from his stomach.

"You wouldn't have half of that in your system if you hadn't fought with me so much." a shadow follows the voice blowing the sun from him.

Fingers twist within the sand and come between his fingers. It sticks to his skin, and he's oddly aware of his surroundings and how much him being on a shore doesn't make sense. A look over his shoulder and all there is, is long pale rose and sea foam green. This woman— _no she's just masquerading before him_.

She'll never be a human.  
 _She'll only be a disgusting imitation_.

This creature breaths water, and air— _no mere woman does that_.  
They lure men deep into the water and drag them down below.

 _It will be no different._

Adrenalin has him before and dropping them to the floor. His fingers tight upon her throat, "What's your game?"

There's a pause from her— _no, it_ —as if it's contemplating the answer. They only know how to deceive and trick. Lids with lashes of pale pink dip down. It's not even trying to fight back even as he sits atop of it aggressive and threatening.

"I'm playing at nothing, _Captain_." her voice is tight with so much pressure upon it.

The flex of his fingers has him weary, and then those sea foam green emerge pointedly and unphased by this rough treatment.

"Why save me then?" he pushes down further as if to make a point before release some of the pressure upon her throat, "You obviously know who I am."

"I'm _not_ employed by the siren." the response it gives makes him feel like it's attempt casual conversation as he feels the way it's throat moves as it swallows, "You're but a man who had fallen overboard—title and reputation are nothing when you're drowning."

There's a hiss and he's reapplied the pressure—he would tolerate no such trickery, "Why did you save me?"

Those fingers wrap around his wrist before sliding up through the sand that covers his skin and clothes. He's not allowing a response and there's a mild curiosity of what kind of trickery it'll attempt as it touches him. Those fingers press against his chest almost too comfortably making him release just a bit of the pressure upon her throat once more in wanting to know its response, "It's better than you finding your end isn't it?"

There's a hesitance in what move to make next. This disgusting imitation could have dragged him deep into the water or left him as he slowly fell to the seas bottom— _it didn't_.

There's no explanation truly given with such a response. He knows there has to be some form of deception in this. It's conjuring it up that has him hesitating. Slowly as if to make it apparent he won't hesitate to grip her throat once more he releases her throat. Fingers float above it's throat.

He can see why these creatures can lure men to their depths. Physically it's ethereal and enticing with such a color palette—but it doesn't lessen the disgust he feels for such a creature.

They're dangerous.  
— _but they also guard the fountain of youth_.

Carefully he watches as it's lips turn slowly, "I'm surprised you have so much energy to wrestle in the sand."

He's more than waterlogged, and as if because it's spoken of the aches his muscles feel they make themselves prominent in their pulse. Knee shifting in the sand he's rising above it. He needs away from it—the more he looks down upon it the more allure he's finding.

He knows better.

Sitting up it raises it's hands above their head stretching. The silence between them is thick on his end and almost airy on it's. Eyes carefully watch as it makes it's way to the shores edge, "There's a town not to far from here." it raises it's hand within the general direction, "Be sure to be careful next time, _Captain Sasuke Uchiha_."

The lowering if it's lids comes as if to tease him, and then with a shift it's facing the sea once more. He could stop this mermaid here and now but it would do him no good. There's no way he could capture a tear in this scenario.

"Your name?" his voice his gruff and his throat burns at the use.

The spin upon it's feet comes within the sand, "Sakura—safe travels." a step within the water and then a turn back before it's diving head first within the waters.

Irritation is bubbling within him at the antics of this mermaid. He's lost his chance here, but there will be another mermaid after it. This is for the best. He knows what to expect with the next. It had saved him just the same, and so he wouldn't bring further harm or threat to it.

 _For it's own sake it had best never cross paths with him once again_.  
Mermaids. They're truly devilfish.


	23. Annoying

x.x.x  
Title: Annoying  
Prompt: who the fuck cares—continuation of Pretty  
ps I may have been listening to dis sweet ass OVERWERK Daft Punk Anthology remix while writing this #omfgkillmeplease #refusetoconfirmordenyit #weallknowiwasOTL  
P.s.s Ceejles bomb art is to blame for this.

* * *

The temperature is changing and the colder it gets the more he despises his commute to work. The huff he's letting out is visible for just moments before disappearing. He's later than he normally is with the holiday season coming in and there's no doubt she'd be up and getting ready for class.

He doesn't see her as often as one would expect—they're on completely different schedules.

Months ago Naruto had come upon his door step asking for the favor of a lifetime. He had asked him to let this complete stranger move into his home with a cat no less.

He had pegged her as absolute trouble. He had been _right_.  
She's not a bad kind of trouble, but she's trouble nonetheless.

Steps crunching in snow and his wad of money tucked deep within his apron. That last customer just wouldn't leave. That customer was the bad kind of trouble. Smitten with his looks and an immunity to alcohol like no other— _it_ _was beyond_ _annoying_.

The twist of his door knob has him rolling his shoulders and shrugging off his winter jacket. The lights are off and it's with a yawn escaping that he's leaving his shoes at the door way and making his way down the hall. Fingers work upon the aprons knot and the ball of fur upon his feet is almost comforting at this point. The nuzzle against his leg signals the end of the second roommate he had been completely unaware of as it saunters its way down the hall. He'd find it odd at this stage if her cat wasn't greeting him.

Apron discarded upon the table and keys following come in. A shower is all he seeks to warm himself before he crawls deep within the comforter. Footsteps heavy against the wood flooring and the turn of the door knob. His brains completely shut itself down as he scratches at his stomach from underneath his shirt blankly taking in this woman of trouble clad in one of his many towels bent over the counter and brushing her teeth. The slowest of movements comes with his intrusion as they make eye contact with each other in the mirror. His eyes are the first to leave slowly trailing down her—

"You're home late." she's muffled with her tooth brush deep inside her mouth as she looks over her shoulder at him.

He doesn't walk in on her usually. He can't even begin to process how this is going to go down.

It's eight in the morning and all he cares about is getting his long awaited shower and nuzzling deep within his comforter— _her cat is absolutely going to join him_.

He's started leaving his door cracked for that exact reason.  
This woman can't be normal.

Wouldn't most women be screaming at someone just walking in?

Why is his shirt half way up? Oh that's right he was scratching his stomach before he found himself hazily staring her down in just a towel. Has he even looked at her face?

No. He definitely isn't looking at her face.  
He's looking at her—

A hum is falling from him in the realization, and his lips are moving without even so much as a thought, "Take your time."

Their roommates no longer strangers. It's inappropriate to stand here any longer and take in this girl he's still figuring out like this. It's been months since she's moved in. He's not complaining at the sight. He's far from complaining and that's the issue here.

 _Cause she's absolute trouble._

He's finally dug his hand out from under his shirt as he sits on the living room couch barely awake, and barely aware of the cat that's sitting upon his lap letting out the lightest and steadiest of purrs. The hand on his shoulder has him jumping at the touch and his eyes opening and seeing a pair of vibrant viridian gazing back down at him.

"I'm headed to class. Go grab your shower, Sasuke-kun." she's whispering as if it'll wake him up more than her touch already has.

Lose pale rose not held back by a braid are still wet and tickling his cheek. She's far to close—she has no concept of personal space he swears to god, but just as quickly as their tickling his cheek their gone once again.

Out of the house with a click of the door and he's sitting there suddenly all too aware of him passing out on the couch. The scoop of the animal is lazy but doesn't cause a fuss. She had claimed Dorie was well behaved, and she hadn't lied. Another yawn uncontrolled and he's completely dismissing the bath. His beds waiting and Dorie is more than ready for a nap.

A shift of the comforter and a stretch upon the bed before he's finally pressing his head deep upon the pillow. There's the smallest of thoughts to place his phone on the charger but its dismissed a second later. Sleep is all that matters.

 _And, god was her ass nice_.  
Ugh— _she's annoying_.

The hours are there, and then he feels himself shifting just slightly catching on quickly there's something between his legs upon the comforter. The cat hasn't left him, and so as he reaches for his phone and pulls it from his work pants he barely questions anything. He doesn't feel like he's slept long, but the blinding light from his screen says otherwise. It's two in the afternoon, and if he's figured out her schedule as much as he thinks he has he knows she'll be home from class shortly.

Pushing up on his forearms he's reaching for the charger he had neglected to use. He'll need it charged for work, and that shower he had intended to take absolutely is a need now. Sliding his legs around the cat comes, and it's only moments later that he sees it's back is humped up as he stretches and lets out its own yawn.

Head under the shower head, and body warmed by the hot water he feels himself relax and the grogginess of sleep washing off the longer he stands there. Lather, rinse, repeat before he's shutting the water off and stepping out onto the mat. Another yawn comes but it's not the same as those that had come right after work.

It's as he's changing that he hears her call announcing she's home, and only a bit more before he's walking out in a fresh pair of sweats and a hoodie. He's far from put together but he's got a bit longer to relax before he needs to head out and he'll take a moment to enjoy some coffee.

He hasn't spared her a glance. This is how they've been since she moved in. It's not always silent. They speak decently to one another, but they don't go out of their way to interrupt the other's routine. The burning sensation from his mug feels good against his finger tips as he tilts the coffee pot over to pour what he essentially considers crack in a cup.

He doesn't need his hood up but it makes him feel warmer. Their heat is on, and she's good about not touching the thermostat—he's pretty sure it's more about the fact nothing seems to disturb this woman. He's never really seen her bundle up in their home, and that's good enough for him.

Steps soft he's coming around the sofa with his crack in a cup in hand. Nestling into the couch it's a quick glance at her sitting on the opposite side. There's the sudden realization she's wears glasses—does that mean she wears contacts? Then there's the sudden dip of his eyes that grazes her cleavage in that definitely out of season red tank top.

Did tank tops usually dip that far?  
Since when did they—

 _Oh, no he's ogling his roommate of_ _all_ _people_.  
This has to _stop_.

His eyes flicker to the turned off television and then the feeling of something small and warm upon his lap follows it. Fingers brush against the cats head and it's purrs are the only thing filling this room. Perhaps she has the right idea. Out of season or not this hoodie feels far too warm all of sudden.

He's blaming it on work, and lack of sleep mentally, but then his eyes are trailing across the coffee table, down to the floor and then following up her exposed leg, and past the brief appearance of light pink shorts mostly hidden by the large college book. The grip upon the handle of his mug tightens as they trail up once again and then there's the briefest of shifts from her as she props her head against her hand. It's more than enough to scare him to look away and take one more drink.

Tugging upon the hood his fingers dip within it's collar giving it the smallest of tugs as if it'll cool him a bit more. It's the dead of winter, and yet he's overheating.

She's annoying.  
 _But, god was the view nice_.

His throat constricts, and his cheeks heat in response.  
Eyes run for the wall—he wants to look anywhere but at her.

Shaking his head he tries to clear it of such indecent thoughts. Leaning forward he watches about shifting the cat too much as he grabs a hold of the remote and turns it on. A click here, and few more there. He has a thing for trashy television, and so when it falls on Judge Judy he feels relief because this will keep him focused on something other than this roommate of his.

His mother taught him better— _she'd scold him for such behavior_.  
 _He's an adult, and a man though_ —that's the lamest of excuses but it sounds nice in his head regardless.

The focus he has on his show keeps him from barely noting the way the couch dips occasionally as she shifts or readjusts. He may have mistakenly caught another glance of her. Bent forward as she scribbled upon a loose piece of paper nonetheless. The clearing of his throat comes after that particular moment. He himself shifts just a bit on the couch as the television regains his attention. Chin against the palm of his hand, and then a bit later the run of his fingers through the back of his head.

It's all clean and all clear. His wandering mind hasn't regained control, and then all of a sudden she's standing up and that isn't subtle at all. Obsidian immediately move to her and watches the way she lays the large and heavy book upon the coffee table. Her arms are rising and then there's the tilt upon the balls of her feet. The curve of her back follows and the slow rise of her tank top doesn't lag behind as she tilts one way, and then the other.

She's annoying— _this woman is annoying_.  
What the fuck.

It's not a question it's a statement. Just what the fuck was she doing to him? He didn't have these issues before he agreed to let her move in and now things feel like their not as simple. This is all he needs to flick the television off and pick the cat up from his lap leaving his coffee mug upon the coffee table. He has to leave for work shortly. There's no time for this.

She's not even doing anything.  
 _Yet, by god is she annoying_.

The switch in clothes comes and the grip upon his apron isn't all that gentle as he works to tie it together tight. Dorie rubs against his leg just as they had earlier this morning when he had arrived home and then it's her voice behind him capturing his attention. She's bending down and scrooping the ball of fur up, "Stay warm, and have a good time at work."

The blankest of stares is upon his face as he takes in her face and the way her mouth moves. His lips press firmly together, and then shift of his mouth comes. A swallow and finally he answers her, "Ah, yeah." the nod of his head follows.

Turning he's grabbing his coat and sliding it on before heading out the door and trekking through the chilled air to begin his evening. Hands stuffed in his coat pockets and chin buried within the collar a huff of frustration leaves him.

Life used to be simple.  
 _She's absolute trouble._


	24. Wild

x.x.x  
Title: Wild  
Prompt: Halloween x College  
Rated: M  
Note: This should of been put in Endurance. I'm not putting it there because I refuse to separate this College AU set. I also refuse to change the rating of this set. I'll go to church at some point to repent for this sin. Just not today. Consider this a warning if smut isn't your thing.  
Continuation of Ten Shades of Red, Definitely, Someone Else, and Classic mind, and So Fine.

* * *

His fingers fumble with the buttons of the tacky and cheap fabric. Subtle glances go upon the mirror and as he's shifting it together he can't help but grimace. He's not one for parties and he's not one for social drinking, but she had asked him to go. Who was he to tell her no?

The way she had brushed a lock of that pale pink back and the way her eyes had skimmed across his face as she proposed going to a Halloween party had coaxed him forward, and the wildest of thoughts about what she'd wear had been tempting enough to make him agree.

The loudest of snorts falls. He has dabbled in curiosity leading up to this moment. She won't dare a whisper nor a hint of what she intends to wear— _and it's killing him if he's being honest_.

They're _still_ not together—her confession isn't on deaf ears though. He's considered it. He's contemplated it. He's dabbled in it.

He just hasn't seized it.  
 _Why is the bigger question_.

He can literally reach out and touch it but there's a definite hesitation. He's not considering anyone but her and she doesn't appear to have her eyes on someone else either—someone else didn't get a confession he did.

Clearing his throat has him glancing at the ridiculous police officer costume he's daring to walk out of his apartment in. There's no stopping the thought that he looks like a cheap imitation of his father, and that has him humming in disapproval.

He can guarantee even as he slides the ridiculous hat on his head that she'll produce that dusty pink he enjoys so much. Taking the time to contemplate their relationship is useless right now—he's far to curious in seeing what she's chosen to wear.

The jingle of keys comes as he slides them across the table and grabs a hold of a black leather jacket at the doorway.

The drive is quiet with his stereo turned down. The closer he gets the wilder his thoughts shift. There's the reminder he shouldn't let himself get too wrapped up in it—a sexy nurse would be nice though.

 _She is a pre-med student after all_.

This is Sakura though, and the instant thought of her being covered from head to toe is also a probability. She enjoys thrillers. What if she wears something tattered and torn— _oh god, there goes the possibility of not having risqué expectations_.

 _He's not doing himself any favors_.

Parking before her dorm only seeks to make him bite his bottom lip before sending the text.

They're not together. He hasn't answered her feelings just yet. They can handle that soon enough. They're just two friends going to a college party. Just friends— _because he won't step over the line_.

The movement at the doors has his eyes sliding off his phone and swinging the drive door open. There's a dryness to his mouth, and the subconscious lick of his upper lip as if that'll fix the problem.

A shift of his gaze and he's caught the stares. He doesn't blame them—this twoman over twenty wouldn't possibility notice the head turns.

 _She's too busy trying to look confident_.

They're entirely warranted. Reality was better than imagination. It's not a sexy nurse, and it's not her clad from head to toe. It's something just as nice as a nurse but not as risqué as ones he had considered.

The way those opaque tights hug her legs— _wait, are they tights or are they thigh highs?_  
That exposed collar bone and tight corset of black has his eyes roaming— _is this the first time she's worn something that low in front of him?_  
The sway of that orange and black mesh skirt— _she has to be wearing thigh highs with what that skirt gives away_.

That hat on her head is adorable and the only thing that tells him she's dressed as a witch. It's risqué but it isn't overdone. It isn't too much.

He's yet to say a word as she's standing before him. Gloved hands of black up to her elbows fidgeting in front of her has him swallowing. Even in heels she's smaller than him. He's not complaining but that view of her cleavage is _a lot_ as he stares down at her.

"You should have stayed in the car—everyone's gawking at you." it's a muffled whine between the two of them and god is this woman _wild_.

She's absolutely wild for thinking someone is staring at him and not at her, and she's _definitely_ off the mark for being as smart as she is.

The press of his fingers upon her back slide down as he walks her to the passenger side. The train of mesh is not a negative as he helps her in. It's got him feeling warm as his eyes trail over her legs, and enjoying that infamous soft thank you even more.

He's of classic mind, and she looks so fine in her little witch getup.  
 _He likes it—oh god, does he like it._

Her shoulders have washed away their tension now that they're in the car and headed out. He's half hearing what she's saying and giving the barest of responses as he swindles and steals looks upon her.

That dusty pink has yet to leave her cheeks, and that's got the ghost of a smirk upon the corners of his lips.

Parking within the yard of the host's home is not as bad as he expected it to be, but the hordes of people trailing at the entrance has him taking in a breath. Her movements are soft but laced in nervousness.

"Oh god—I _shouldn't_ have worn this." the way her cheeks fill with air in her childishness is one he's seen one to many times.

It amuses him just as it always has as he exits the car and begins sliding off his leather jacket laying it upon his arm and opening the passenger seat.

She's gained the habit of holding out her hand and he takes it gingerly as he's been taught well before now. Helping her out of the car earns him that soft thank you— _will there ever be a time when she doesn't give them?_

Sliding the jacket upon her shoulders earns him those pale green and it's a dip of his head to her ear that has him finally letting that grin escape from just the corners, "I _definitely_ think you should have worn this."

There's a subtle shake to her with him humming against her ear and pulling back grants him a deeper dusty shade of pink upon her.

This party is all that he knows it would be as they enter. It's warm with the mass of bodies, and it's loud with the blaring music.

The wide doe eyes she's painted in furthers his amusement as they make their way through. The loud squeal of the blonde is what he expects and is barely overpowered by the speakers. There's cups within their hands immediately and the scent of smoke, and sweat that hangs in the air as they go deeper within the house.

They could be at home watching another one of her favorite thrillers—but he's not complaining as his eyes follow her. She's gone one minute and back the next in repeated fashion.

The forceful hand against his back has him turning and it's no surprise there's a blonde behind him filled with impishness, "Imagine you at a party of all things."

It's only a moment before his eyes are back upon her. A sip of the spiked Gatorade follows along with a roll of his shoulders in response.

"So, ya lock that in yet?"

"Did your mother pick out your costume?" his witticism is in full effect.

There's an obvious pause from the blonde and then the pinch of those blonde brows, "What do you mean? I look cool!" there's a ridiculous amount of pride as the blonde puffs out his chest dawned as a gladiator—the blonde has clearly had his share of alcohol if the scent of booze was any indicator.

He has little to no desire to discuss his hesitation to step over that line with him. He reminds himself it's not that he's against it— _maybe it's the fact he's severely overthinking it_.

"Besides, who dressed you? You look like your damn dad." the howl the blonde lets out awards him a shift of eyes and a twitch of his mouth.

The drag of his tongue upon the top of his teeth comes, and then the sip of his drink fills his mouth. There's no missing the heads that turn and the way they scale up her form. There's an obvious attempt when a male he's unfamiliar with gains her attention, and then she's gone from his view as a girl stands in front of him.

He has zero clue who this girl is, and he isn't particularly interested in finding out either. _His mother raised him to be polite though_ —and so he answers when it's necessary. He learns her name and learns she's studying literature. He listens to her continuing to coax him for a conversation, and watches the way she tries to garner his attention with small touches upon his arm.

A flicker of his obsidian behind her and Sakura's nowhere to be seen. The blonde next to him is his scapegoat and that's how he excuses himself with the claim of running out of something to drink.

The amount of people makes maneuvering difficult. From bumping into some and being shoved into others he's muttered enough apologies for one night. The kitchen is just as packed and the amount of onlookers for the two in the corner making out has him rolling his eyes.

Grabbing more spiked Gatorade comes first, and the whistles and yells echo within the house. The spectacle the two are making of themselves isn't enough to keep him from searching out the woman of pale pink, and pale green. She's there on the couch with a new male beside her and her blonde roommate to her right.

He's barely ready for it when another body slams into his making him spill some of his drink upon his hand and the floor. The loudest of laughs comes and it's coated in a slurred mess.

It's enough to grab his attention from her and the newest one to attempt to win her over. He's not concerned necessarily—it's gonna take a lot more than that to coax her from his side—but that doesn't mean he's not keeping watch.

It's one more drink after this one, and two hours in. It's three times as loud as he thought this event would be, and four plastic cups connecting as they go on about the most miscellaneous of things. Five loud yells— _he swears someone just did some lame ass attempt at an Indian call_ —and six glances her way.

He likes this— _n_ _o_ _, he just likes her_.  
He definitely likes her in that witch getup.

That males shifting closer to her and she's so naive and unaware at the attention she's gained as more males have come to sit upon the coffee table. That blonde friend of hers is far too engrossed in whatever their discussing— _oh, yeah he should probably pay attention to his own conversation_.

The click of fingers has his eyes running back to his own friend dressed as a dog no less. He always knew something was off about— _oh fuck, what was this kid's name_? _Kiba_? They went to middle school together.

"Aye, Uchiha!" the yell is loud and has even grabbed the attention of pale green eyes.

The attempt to take another swig of his drink is halted at the call of his surname. It's only a moment later that he's extending his hand out and bumping shoulders with one he knows all too well.

"It's been a while. I didn't expect—"

"Yeah, yeah I know. No one expects me to come to these kinds of things." he's leaning against the wall and shoving his hand within his pants pocket.

"A cop, though? You look like your father." there's the smallest of snickers following it.

"Real funny, Neji." the snort he lets out is entirely too loud.

"He's not really here for any other reason than that one over there." that's comment is enough to make his head whip to the claim Kiba's made.

The press of the plastic against his lips is in hopes they'll leave the subject alone, but this is college, and people are nosy and so when the questions start flowing he immediately shuts it down, "We're not dating. We're friends."

"You seriously gonna look at me at tell me you haven't—but dude them _legs_." the nudge to his shoulder has him having to readjust himself against the wall.

They're none to prepared when the seven yells to chug fill the house, and eight people come rushing past to see what all the commotion is about. The smaller plastic shot glass being pushed his way has them looking about and throwing it back. Naruto's come to join them no longer left with the random girl from earlier. It's been a while since he's seen them so he's not complaining.

 _After all, he's been filling his time with this girl he calls a friend, and not a girlfriend._

How many drinks is this when another comes within his grasp. Nine? His already feeling decent. There's that obvious slur to his words, and he's grabbed at least his ten looks her way. There's the smallest of smirks hinted upon the corner of his mouth is seeing whatever male that had been seated beside her is gone and a few more girls surround her.

So maybe that's why when he's become slightly engrossed in his conversation he's not ready for her to be standing before him. She's got the smallest shade of red upon her cheeks—it's not the _ten shades of red_ he loves on her. It's different. He thinks he enjoys this regardless.

Whatever conversation they had been having is immediately dead as her fingers press against his chest and all of a sudden he's caught between staring at those pale green or that more than inviting cleavage.

Did her mouth always look this inviting? _God only knows_.  
What he does know is how much he likes this—whatever _this_ is.

There's no second guessing himself here and now, and he's pretty sure it's all because of this liquid courage inside of a red cup that he's pressing firmly against Naruto's chest. He doesn't even care if the blonde's successfully taken it. All he knows is he's going to step over that line, and it all starts with his fingers sliding up that neck, and making their way within pale rose-colored strands.

This woman over twenty was far too cute for her own good— _tonight she's more than cute_. Tonight she's aggressive, she's got some raciness to her, and tonight she's far bolder than normal.

He's typically of _classic mind_ , and _god, does she look fine_ —too fine. Tonight's not typical though, and that's why he challenges that boldness of hers. That's also why he's firm in pressing his mouth to hers and coaxing her own open. He can almost hear the yells that literally explode next to him but he's far too interested in sliding his tongue into her mouth.

It's that feeling of her hands reaching up and removing that ridiculous hat off his head that has him aching. She's _definitely_ just as interested in this as he is.

His mother taught him many things—to be a gentlemen, and to definitely know time place, and occasion. That is the only thing that makes him pull away and grab her hands to stop them from tempting him any further than they already have.

Hot breathed, and a flash of his eyes to one of them— _was it Neji, or maybe it was Kiba_?

 _They all look the fucking same who the fuck cares._

He's firm in his grip upon her hand, "Have yourselves a good night."

Pulling her through is simple enough. He leaves no room for rebuttal before grabbing his jacket and sliding it upon her shoulders. She's wobbly in her heels and that's more than enough of an excuse to have him lift her up confirming that, yes, they are in fact thigh highs.

 _He likes it—oh god, yes, he likes it_.

He likes her pressed against him even more.

Her arms are tight around his neck as he makes his way with her to his car. He's buzzed. He's probably past buzzed and if his mother finds out he's about to drive while intoxicated she'll lose it, but who said she has to know this minor detail.

 _He's hot blooded right this minute, and that's all he knows_.

Who the fuck was he trying to play when he said they were friends.

 _They're definitely not friends_.

That drive? Who knows. He's more than pretty sure he parked decently. He didn't kill them, and that's what counts. He'll be pissy about this later. Right now, though, he's busy. He's got other things on his mind, and all of those things are her.

God, imagine if she had gone with a sexy nurse. Would he have even made it this deep into the night?

It's her hand in his and them being far too loud in opening the door. She's letting out the highest of giggles behind him before he's dragging her in and lifting her against the door and wrapping those legs where they should be— _around his hips with her heels against his ass_.

She's warm for being dressed so risqué. He reminds himself to slow down, and to not be so aggressive, but then she tugs upon his hair and that's out the window, and set to be reviewed for later. He's past hormonally charged, and hot blooded especially with that noise she just let out as he presses his lips against her throat.

He likes this witch getup.  
 _He's willing to bet he'll_ _love_ _it off her too_.

It's all too much as she's letting out heated breaths and producing the best shudders. Fingers skim over those thigh highs that have had his attention since the beginning of the night. It's got his blood pumping loud in his ears and a rush of pants escalating from her. She's pushing and their stumbling back as they make their way through his apartment. Kisses lingering and hands touching—oh god, she just cupped him. Her grip isn't too tight, and that roll of her palm and brush of her fingers has him letting out his own sounds. The grip upon his door handle from behind him is far too tight as he swings the door open, and that push of hers has them tumbling back upon his bed.

He wants to take this second— _this moment_ —however brief it is to thank god that he left his desk lamp on.

He wants to see her.  
He wants to see her for just a moment longer in that outfit _before he takes it off her_.

Air seems nonexistent as she's on his lap rolling her hips, and that friction has him pulling on the zipper in the back. It's left her in just that mesh skirt and god is he ready to tear that off her just the same. That ten shades of red is across her cheeks and while it's not the same one laced with embarrassment he loves this one even more— _does she know what she's doing to him when she looks at him with half lidded eyes and her mouth parted just slightly?_

Her fingers are fumbling with his button, and if he wasn't too busy running his hands up her thighs and enjoying the way they feel in his hands he'd help. She's ripping the gloves off after her failed attempts become too much, and that's got him pulling the black corset out between them.

Thank you god, and thank you desk lamp.  
 _Cause, yes, he does love her out of it_.

He loves the way she shivers as his hands run up her skin, and the way her mouth parts with every little noise she makes. They are far too cute—but they're so much more than cute. They make him lift her up and his fingers tug upon her skirt. They're intoxicated and fumbling but that's not making any of this less exciting as he takes one of breasts into his hand and slide his tongue across her nipple.

Has he mentioned how much he loves the way she's tugging upon his hair as he takes it into his mouth? He _definitely_ loves that too—those _someone elses_ aren't causing these reactions. She's in his apartment, on his lap, and _god_ , she just said his name.

His whole body is peaking at that simple breathless drop of his name. Pulling her upon the bed gives him just the angle he needs to yank that skirt finally from her thighs and toss it across the room. Those pale pink strands are so pretty across her shoulders and back as she keeps herself on all fours looking back at him from. His imagination had been _wild_ leading up to this moment, but they have nothing on this— _with her ass in the air and just a simple pair of black panties separating him from where he wants to buried_.

He's more than ready to go as his thumbs hook upon the sides of her panties and then the curiosity grabs his already foggy mind. He only sees the way her pale green widen for a moment before he's tugging them up and running his tongue against her. Her ass is raising higher to give him better access and he's loving the way her voice becomes muffled within his sheets. The quake of her legs has him licking harder and faster. Those cries are filling his room, and every little sound is exactly what he wants to hear.

He pauses for just a moment raising up to catch a glimpse of her face pressed against his bed. The halt earns him a frustrated whine and the turn of her head giving him those pale green looking back at him as he runs the back of his hand across his mouth. Just as with that skirt, and corset he wants to see them off her. He doesn't want to tease her anymore.

Quick and fluid he's sliding the wet material down and to her knees. He's about to slide the already unbuttoned shirt off before she lets out another noise full of disapproval.

"Keep it on." it's heated and laced in demand.

He wouldn't have thought her to have a thing for uniforms.  
For a girl who seemed so innocent she was far from it— _he'll likes that, god, does he like it._

There's no stopping the harsh swallow that simple request makes him produce, and as a reply he simply bends back down sliding his tongue against her. The slide of his tongue between her folds makes her quake once again. It's got him hungry and it's got him wanting more as she fights between raising higher to give him more access and thrusting against his tongue.

Her voice is higher and then he's all to aware of _why_. He can't continue otherwise he'll go before he's even begun, and so even when she lets out a whine full of dissatisfaction he can't help but let out a grin. He loves listening to how pleased she is when he does things to her, and that's why even though he has to be careful not to lose control he slides his fingers in slow, and deep eliciting the those sounds he loves once again.

The pace he sets is built up. It's not all at once, and god, she's just so wet and warm. Oh, yes, he likes this. He loves this. He wants more of this.

He can't believe he didn't go over the line before now.  
 _There's no excuse for torturing himself like this_.

The light his desk lamp gives off makes him love it even more. It's just enough to let him see the way she's gripping his fingers as they pull out and go back in, and that's enough visual stimulation to make him bite his bottom lip and let out a low groan.

He should have taken her the night he took her to dinner after teaching her how to parallel park. He should have taken her that time in his kitchen when he thought someone else had gained her interest. He should have taken her when he brought her back to his place after she confessed.

He should have. Could have.  
But he didn't— _he is now, though_.

This isn't how he had foreseen it. This isn't how he imagined it.  
But he's more than okay with it. He's definitely glad he agreed to go with her to that party.

He can make all the excuses for his hesitation all he wants, but she was _definitely_ his then, and all the times before it if tonight has taught him anything.

The drag of his zipper isn't heard with the moans she's letting out with each pump of his fingers. The pull upon his pants doesn't bring them too low— _no, he just lows them as far as necessary so he doesn't have to stop what he's doing_.

The loss of his fingers inside her makes her push up upon her elbows and push her ass back against him. He can't help but tease her over such a response, "So impatient."

He doesn't even give her the option to respond before sliding gripping himself and begin pushing himself in. It's just the tip at first as he slides deeper pulling upon her hips to grind deeper and against her. His own shudder is unable to be kept at bay, and there's no missing the way her voice has become muffled with the help of her hand.

This is where he can't stop himself. This is where he's lost himself. He's firm in his grip upon her hip, and her waist. He loves the way she's so warm and wet. He loves the way she grips him. He loves the way she—

"Sasuke-kun!"

 _Oh god, he definitely loves that even more._

He's trying to remember to be easy with her, but then he thrusts harder, and hits inside her deeper. He had liked the way it looked as his fingers went in and out of her. He loves the way it looks when he slides out nice and slow slick with her before pushing himself back in to enjoy all that warmth.

He barely picks up on his own voice joining her own, or in the way he's building up speed. He's overcome with those wonderful wet sounds coming with every thrust. Harsh and deep he's slamming against her.

Fuck— _is there anything he doesn't love about her in this moment?_

Even the way those pale pink slide and move with each thrust has him reeling, and so close to the edge. The way her hips buckle and she's pressed against the bed doesn't halt him in the slightest. Deeper, and deeper. Harder, and harder. Faster, and faster. That's all he can think.

She's that _ten shades of red_ he loves.  
She's _definitely_ has always been his.  
She's never been _someone else's_.  
She's a _classic_ , and far too _fine_ to not be his.

He wants to hear the way she comes. He wants that hand off her mouth, and that's exactly what he's going for when he presses his cheek against hers and groans in her ear. That hand falls away from her mouth allowing her fingers to curl against his pillow and then it's one thrust, two hot breaths, three begs, four high pitched whimpers, and on thrust five she's over the edge and tight upon him.

On six he becomes more than determined, and on seven he's pressing kisses against her ear. Eight makes it's way hard, and with the ninth he feels himself tumbling over the edge. Ten comes in deep and it's here he loses himself.

There's no stopping the way he moans out her name deep, hot, and exhausted. His release is done with the hard press against her as he rocks himself empty inside her. Their covered in sweat, and the scent of sex has soaked the room.

Sluggish and slightly off balance he's raising trying in vain to catch his breath. She's in no better shape with the way her lids slowly lift. He'll clean them up later. He'll do a lot of things later.

All he's concerned about right this minute is wrapping his arms around her and them sleeping off the booze. Pulling the comforter out from them has them fumbling before sliding under it. Those arms of hers comes around his waist, and his around her shoulder. He's definitely more sober than when they started. That scent of vanilla comes with him pressing his nose within her hair.

The smallest of yawns escapes him and he barely has time to note how she's fallen asleep already.

Lids fluttering down and then when they finally raise again his apartment is flooded with light from the window. He wants to get up and close the curtains but there's a weight upon his shoulder and it's slightly uncomfortable— _no, it's definitely uncomfortable, and made his shoulder numb_.

A glance down makes it suddenly clear why and then there's a flutter of his heartbeat. Swallowing thickly he's trying to place it all together, and it doesn't take much. He remembers the way he had pounded her into his bed, and the way she cried his name out. He feels his cheeks warm at the thought.

Slowly he eases himself out from under her noting her scattered clothing and realizing he's still in this ridiculous outfit. His throat feels rough, and the first thing he needs to do right now is get some coffee. He can do this. It's not like he hadn't considered it.

Grabbing his glasses from the desk he makes quick work of grabbing a shirt, and sweat pants. Down the hall and into the kitchen he runs a hand through his hair. Fumbling around in the kitchen it's barely a thought to grab the pancake mix from the cupboard. He's not complaining about what happened. He's more than pleased with himself. Clearing his throat he gets the keurig started and their coffee ready.

She'll want milk with her coffee—if he threw in some chocolate syrup would that make it that mocha she buys when they go to that little cafe? He doesn't know but at this point he'll give it a shot. It can't be that difficult.

His coffee is made first as he works on getting the pancakes ready. The slow way in which he moves makes it clear he's tired, but again he's not complaining. Looking back on what he does remember he's beyond pleased. That flushed face, and those sounds. He feels hot again, and he needs to think of anything other than the way he made her quake beneath him as he filled her up.

Fuck— _that's not how you do that_.

A noise grabs his attention, and he swears to god he almost swallowed his tongue. Turning slowly there's no missing her face in those ten shades of red he just loves. She's gotten one of his shirts out from his closet, and god, has he mentioned how much he loves her in them?

This is what he had been hesitant about. He didn't want things to become awkward between them. He didn't want her feeling embarrassed or out of place. A deep inhale has him settling his own nerves as he stands there with a spatula in one hand and the other on the handle of the pan.

Opening his mouth he immediately closes it. Turning back around he flips the pancake over before grabbing her cup from under the keurig. They don't speak a word as he pours the milk, and syrup into the cup being sure to stir it thoroughly. She's made her way to the pan and kept her eyes on the food and it's here and now he knows he needs to break the silence and ease some of her embarrassment.

He's extending the cup and then he sees the way she's got her eyes looking upon the floor about to take it from him. That's more than enough for him. He's not sure what she thinks but he'll be damned if he doesn't find out.

The cup never makes it to her hands as he places it on the counter and then he's lifting her up with a startled noise falling from her lips as he sits her on the counter. That subconscious habit of licking her bottom lip is not helping right this second—what if she—no, no, focus.

He was so sure last night she was his.  
He's not so sure right now and that takes priority.

Clearing his throat he gains her eyes back on him. He's quiet in his grip of the coffee cup and bringing it back to her hands. That infamous soft thank you falls between them and that helps to ease his nerves.

He only turns briefly to switch out the pancake so it doesn't burn, and start the next before giving her his attention once more. There's a soft swing to her legs as she sits there sipping her coffee. Her eyes have yet to leave him.

Standing comfortably between them he's got his hands firm upon the counter as he brings his face closer to her. It's enough to get her lower the cup to her lap. There's no missing the way she swallows.

"Sasuke-kun."

He only lets out that habitual noise in response. He's interested to see where she takes this.

"I like you." her voice sounds so small in that moment, and that's enough to remind him that, _yes_ , she is _definitely_ his.

The smallest of grins sits upon the corners of his mouth as his own voice finally comes out with the low hum behind it, " _Ah—do you_?"

That habit of slicking her upper lip happens once again at his response, and that's what he takes as a sign to let his hands make their way to her thighs and press his lips to hers. It's nothing like last night. It's not as firm or challenging.

This woman over twenty was far too cute for her own good, and perhaps that's how she got him wrapped around her finger the way she does.

Her arms have made themselves around his neck. He has no clue where she's put her coffee cup, and he doesn't honestly care. When they pull apart she's still wearing those ten shades of red he loves—he thinks a few more shades have shown themselves, though.

"Do you want chocolate syrup on your pancakes?" it's just a breath between them, and then she's got that smile blossoming across her face.

"Yes, please."

 _They're definitely together._


End file.
